Harlequin

Quatre Vents had been a small village, scarce larger than Hookton, with a gaunt barn-like church, a cluster of cottages where cows and people had shared the same thatched roofs, a water mill, and some outlying farms crouched in sheltered valleys. Only the stone walls of the church and mill were left now, the rest was just ashes, dust and weeds. The blossom was blowing from the untended orchards when Thomas arrived on a horse sweated white by its long journey. He released the stallion to graze in a well-hedged and overgrown pasture, then took himself into the woods above the church. He was shaken, nervous and frightened, for what had seemed like a game had twisted his life into darkness. Not a few hours before he had been an archer in England's army and, though his future might not have appealed to the young men with whom he had rioted in Oxford, Thomas had been certain he would at least rise as high as Will Skeat. He had imagined himself leading a band of soldiers, becoming wealthy, following his black bow to fortune and even rank, but now he was a hunted man. He was in such panic that he began to doubt Will Skeat's reaction, fearing that Skeat would be so disgusted at the failure of the ambush that he would arrest Thomas and lead him back to a rope-dancing end in La Roche-Derrien's marketplace. He worried that Jeanette would have been caught going back to the town. Would they charge her with murder too? He shivered as night fell. He was twenty-two years old, he had failed utterly, he was alone and he was lost. He woke in a cold, drizzling dawn. Hares raced across the pasture where Sir Simon Jekyll's destrier cropped the grass. Thomas opened the purse he kept under his mail coat and counted his coins. There was the gold from Sir Simon's saddle pouch and his own few coins, so he was not poor, but like most of the hellequin he left the bulk of his money in Will Skeat's keeping; even when they were out raiding, there were always some men left in La Roche-Derrien to keep an eye on the hoard. What would he do? He had a bow and some arrows, and perhaps he could walk to Gascony, though he had no idea how far that was, but at least he knew there were English garrisons there who would surely welcome another trained archer. Or perhaps he could find a way to cross the Channel? Go home, find another name, start again except he had no home. What he must never do was find himself within a hanging rope's distance of Sir Simon Jekyll.

The hellequin arrived shortly after midday. The archers rode into the village first, followed by the men-at-arms, who were escorting a one-horse wagon that had wooden hoops supporting a flapping cover of brown cloth. Father Hobbe and Will Skeat rode beside the wagon, which puzzled Thomas, for he had never known the hellequin use such a vehicle before. But then Skeat and the priest broke away from the men-at-arms and spurred their horses towards the field where the stallion grazed.

The two men stopped by the hedge, and Skeat cupped his hands and shouted towards the woods, Come on out, you daft bastard!“ Thomas emerged very sheepishly, to be greeted with an ironic cheer from the archers. Skeat regarded him sourly. God's bones, Tom,” he said, but the devil did a bad thing when he humped your mother."

Father Hobbe tutted at Will's blasphemy, then raised a hand in blessing. You missed a fine sight, Tom,“ he said cheerfully: Sir Simon coming home to La Roche, half naked and bleeding like a stuck pig. I'll hear your confession before we go. Don't grin, you stupid bastard,” Skeat snapped. Sweet Christ, Tom, but if you do a job, do it proper. Do it proper! Why did you leave the bastard alive?"

I missed."

Then you go and kill some poor bastard squire instead. Sweet Christ, but you're a goddamn bloody fool."

I suppose they want to hang me?“ Thomas asked. Oh no,” Skeat said in feigned surprise, of course not! They want to feast you, hang garlands round your neck and give you a dozen virgins to warm your bed. What the hell do you think they want to do with you? Of course they want you dead and I swore on my mother's life I'd bring you back if I found you alive. Does he look alive to you, father?"

Father Hobbe examined Thomas. He looks very dead to me, Master Skeat."

He bloody deserves to be dead, the daft bastard.“ Did the Countess get safe home?” Thomas asked. She got home, if that's what you mean,“ Skeat said, but what do you think Sir Simon wanted the moment he'd covered up his shrivelled prick? To have her house searched, Tom, for some armour and a sword that were legitimately his. He's not such a daft fool; he knows you and she were together.” Thomas cursed and Skeat repeated the blasphemy. So they pressed her two servants and they admitted the Countess planned everything."

They did what?" Thomas asked.

They pressed them,“ Skeat repeated, which meant that the old couple had been put flat on the ground and had stones piled on their chests. The old girl squealed everything at the first stone, so they were hardly hurt,” Skeat went on, and now Sir Simon wants to charge her ladyship with murder. And naturally he had her house searched for the sword and armour, but they found nowt because I had them and her hidden well away, but she's still as deep in the shit as you are. You can't just go about sticking crossbow bolts into knights and slaughtering squires, Tom! It upsets the order of things!"

I'm sorry, Will," Thomas said.

So the long and the brief of it,“ Skeat said, is that the Countess is seeking the protection of her husband's uncle.” He jerked a thumb at the cart. She's in that, together with her bairn, two bruised servants, a suit of armour and a sword."

Sweet Jesus,“ Thomas said, staring at the cart. You put her there,” Skeat growled, not Him. And I had the devil's own business keeping her hid from Sir Simon. Dick Totesham suspects I'm up to no good and he don't approve, though he took my word in the end, but I still had to promise to drag you back by the scruff of your miserable neck. But I haven't seen you, Tom.“ I'm sorry, Will,” Thomas said again.

You bloody well should be sorry,“ Skeat said, though he was exuding a quiet satisfaction that he had managed to clean up Thomas's mess so efficiently. Jake and Sam had not been seen by Sir Simon or his surviving man-at-arms, so they were safe, Thomas was a fugitive and Jeanette had been safely smuggled out of La Roche-Derrien before Sir Simon could make her life into utter mis-ery. She's travelling to Guingamp,” Skeat went on, and I'm sending a dozen men to escort her and God only knows if the enemy will respect their flag of truce. If I had a lick of bloody sense I'd skin you alive and make a bow-cover out of your hide.“ Yes, Will,” Thomas said meekly.

Don't bloody yes, Will“ me,” Skeat said. What are you going to do with the few days you've got left to live?“ I don't know.”

Skeat sniffed. You could grow up, for a start, though there's probably scant chance of that happening. Right, lad.“ He braced himself taking charge. I took your money from the chest, so here it is.” He handed Thomas a leather pouch. And I've put three sheaves of arrows in the lady's cart and that'll keep you for a few days. If you've got any sense, which you ain't, then you'd go south or north. You could go to Gascony, but it's a hell of a long walk. Flanders is closer and has plenty of English troops who'll probably take you in if they're desperate. That's my advice, lad. Go north and hope Sir Simon never goes to Flanders."

Thank you," Thomas said.

But how do you get to Flanders?" Skeat asked.

Walk?" Thomas suggested.

God's bones,“ Will said, but you're a useless worm-eaten piece of lousy meat. Walk dressed like that and carrying a bow, and you might just as well just cut your own throat. It'll be quicker than letting the French do it.”

You might find this useful,“ Father Hobbe intervened, and offered Thomas a black cloth bundle which, on unrolling, proved to be the robe of a Dominican friar. You speak Latin, Tom,” the priest said, so you could pass for a wandering preacher. If anyone challenges you, say you're travelling from Avignon to Aachen.“ Thomas thanked him. Do many Dominicans travel with a bow?” he asked.

Lad,“ Father Hobbe said sadly, I can unbutton your breeches and I can point you down wind, but even with the Good Lord's help I can't piss for you.”

In other words,“ Skeat said, work it out for yourself. You got yourself in this bloody mess, Tom, so you get yourself out. I enjoyed your company, lad. Thought you'd be useless when I first saw you and you weren't, but you are now. But be lucky, boy.” He held out his hand and Thomas shook it. You might as well go to Guingamp with the Countess,“ Skeat finished, and then find your own way, but Father Hobbe wants to save your soul first. God knows why.” Father Hobbe dismounted and led Thomas into the roofless church where grass and weeds now grew between the flagstones. He insisted on hearing a confession and Thomas was feeling abject enough to sound contrite.

Father Hobbe sighed when it was done. You killed a man, Tom,“ he said heavily, and it is a great sin.”

Father Thomas began.

No, no, Tom, no excuses. The Church says that to kill in battle is a duty a man owes to his lord, but you killed outside the law. That poor squire, what offence did he give you? And he had a mother, Tom; think of her. No, you've sinned grievously and I must give you a grievous penance.

Thomas, on his knees, looked up to see a buzzard sliding between the thinning clouds above the church's scorched walls. Then Father Hobbe stepped closer, looming above him. I'll not have you mutter-ing paternosters, Tom,“ the priest said, but something hard. Something very hard.” He put his hand on Thomas's hair. Your penance is to keep the promise you made to your father.“ He paused to hear Thomas's response, but the young man was silent. You hear me?” Father Hobbe demanded fiercely.

Yes, father."

You will find the lance of Saint George, Thomas, and return it to England. That is your penance. And now,“ he changed into execrable Latin, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, I absolve you.” He made the sign of the cross. Don't waste your life, Tom."

I think I already have, father."

You're just young. It seems like that when you're young. Life's nothing but joy or misery when you're young." He helped Thomas up from his knees. You're not hanging from a gibbet, are you? You're alive, Tom, and there's a deal of life in you yet. He smiled. I have a feeling we shall meet again.

Thomas made his farewells, then watched as Will Skeat collected Sir Simon Jekyll's horse and led the hellequin eastwards, leaving the wagon and its small escort in the ruined village. The leader of the escort was called Hugh Boltby, one of Skeat's better men-at-arms, and he reckoned they would likely meet the enemy the next day somewhere close to Guingamp. He would hand the Countess over, then ride back to join Skeat. And you'd best not be dressed as an archer, Tom," he added.

Thomas walked beside the wagon that was driven by Pierre, the old man who had been pressed by Sir Simon. Jeanette did not invite Thomas inside, indeed she pretended he did not exist, though next morning, after they had camped in an abandoned farm, she laughed at the sight of him dressed in the friar's robe.

I'm sorry about what happened,“ Thomas said to her. Jeanette shrugged. It may be for the best. I probably should have gone to Duke Charles last year.”

Why didn't you, my lady?"

He hasn't always been kind to me,“ she said wistfully, but I think that might have changed by now.” She had persuaded herself that the Duke's attitude might have altered because of the letters she had sent to him, letters that would help him when he led his troops against the garrison at La Roche-Derrien. She also needed to believe the Duke would welcome her, for she desperately needed a safe home for her son, Charles, who was enjoying the adventure of riding in a swaying, creaking wagon. Together they would both start a new life in Guingamp and Jeanette had woken with optimism about that new life. She had been forced to leave La Roche-Derrien in a frantic hurry, putting into the cart just the retrieved armour, the sword and some clothes, though she had some money that Thomas suspected Will had given to her, but her real hopes were pinned on Duke Charles who, she told Thomas, would surely find her a house and lend her money in advance of the missing rents from Plabennec. He is sure to like Charles, don't you think?" she asked Thomas.

I'm sure," Thomas said, glancing at Jeanette's son, who was shak-ing the wagon's reins and clicking his tongue in a vain effort to make the horse go quicker.

But what will you do?" Jeanette asked.

I'll survive," Thomas said, unwilling to admit that he did not know what he would do. Go to Flanders, probably, if he could ever reach there. Join another troop of archers and pray nightly that Sir Simon Jekyll never came his way again. As for his penance, the lance, he had no idea how he was to find it or, having found it, retrieve it.

Jeanette, on that second day of the journey, decided Thomas was a friend after all.

When we get to Guingamp,“ she told him, you find somewhere to stay and I shall persuade the Duke to give you a pass. Even a wandering friar will be helped by a pass from the Duke of Brittany.” But no friar ever carried a bow, let alone a long English war bow, and Thomas did not know what to do with the weapon. He was loath to abandon it, but the sight of some charred timbers in the abandoned farmhouse gave him an idea. He broke off a short length of blackened timber and lashed it crosswise to the unstrung bows-tave so that it resembled a pilgrim's cross-staff. He remembered a Dominican visiting Hookton with just such a staff. The friar, his hair cropped so short he looked bald, had preached a fiery sermon outside the church until Thomas's father became tired of his ranting and sent him on his way, and Thomas now reckoned he would have to pose as just such a man. Jeanette suggested he tied flowers to the staff to disguise it further, and so he wrapped it with clovers that grew tall and ragged in the abandoned fields.

The wagon, hauled by a bony horse that had been plundered from Lannion, lurched and lumbered southwards. The men-at-arms

became ever more cautious as they neared Guingamp, fearing an ambush of crossbow bolts from the woods that pressed close to the deserted road. One of the men had a hunting horn that he sounded constantly to warn the enemy of their approach and to signal that they came in peace, while Boltby had a strip of white cloth hanging from the tip of his lance. There was no ambush, but a few miles short of Guingamp they came in sight of a ford where a band of enemy soldiers waited. Two men-at-arms and a dozen crossbowmen ran forward, their weapons cocked, and Boltby summoned Thomas from the wagon. Talk to them," he ordered.

Thomas was nervous. What do I say?"

Give them a bloody blessing, for Christ's sake,“ Boltby said, dis-gusted, and tell them we're here in peace. So, with a beating heart and a dry mouth, Thomas walked down the road. The black gown flapped awkwardly about his ankles as he waved his hands at the crossbowmen. Lower your weapons,” he called in French, lower your weapons. The Englishmen come in peace."

One of the horsemen spurred forward. His shield bore the same white ermine badge that Duke John's men carried, though these supporters of Duke Charles had surrounded the ermine with a blue wreath on which fleurs-de-lis had been painted.

Who are you, father?" the horseman demanded.

Thomas opened his mouth to answer, but no words came. He gaped up at the horseman, who had a reddish moustache and oddly yellow eyes. A hard-looking bastard, Thomas thought, and he raised a hand to touch Saint Guinefort's paw. Perhaps the saint inspired him, for he was suddenly possessed of devilment and began to enjoy playing a priest's role. I am merely one of God's humbler children, my son," he answered unctuously.

Are you English?“ the man-at-arms demanded suspiciously. Thomas's French was near perfect, but it was the French spoken by England's rulers rather than the language of France itself. Thomas again felt panic fluttering in his breast, but he bought time by making the sign of the cross, and as his hand moved so inspiration came to him. I am a Scotsman, my son,” he said, and that allayed the yellow-eyed man's suspicions; the Scots had ever been France's ally. Thomas knew nothing of Scotland, but doubted many Frenchmen or Bretons did either, for it was far away and, by all accounts, a most uninviting place. Skeat always said it was a country of bog, rock and heathen bastards who were twice as difficult to kill as any Frenchman. I am a Scotsman,“ Thomas repeated, who brings a kinswoman of the Duke out of the hands of the English.”

The man-at-arms glanced at the wagon. A kinswoman of Duke Charles?"

Is there another duke?“ Thomas asked innocently. She is the Countess of Armorica,” he went on, and her son, who is with her, is the Duke's grandnephew and a count in his own right. The English have held them prisoner these six months, but by God's good grace they have relented and set her free. The Duke, I know, will want to welcome her."

Thomas laid on Jeanette's rank and relationship to the Duke as thick as newly skimmed cream and the enemy swallowed it whole. They allowed the wagon to continue, and Thomas watched as Hugh Boltby led his men away at a swift trot, eager to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the crossbowmen. The leader of the enemy's men-at-arms talked with Jeanette and seemed impressed by her hauteur. He would, he said, be honoured to escort the Countess to Guingamp, though he warned her that the Duke was not there, but was still returning from Paris. He was said to be at Rennes now, a city that lay a good day's journey to the east. You will take me as far as Rennes?“ Jeanette asked Thomas. You want me to, my lady?”

A young man is useful,“ she said. Pierre is old,” she gestured at the servant, and has lost his strength. Besides, if you're going to Flanders then you will need to cross the river at Rennes." So Thomas kept her company for the three days that it took the painfully slow wagon to make the journey. They needed no escort beyond Guingamp for there was small danger of any English raiders this far east in Brittany and the road was well patrolled by the Duke's forces. The countryside looked strange to Thomas, for he had become accustomed to rank fields, untended orchards and deserted villages, but here the farms were busy and prosperous. The churches were bigger and had stained glass, and fewer and fewer folk spoke Breton. This was still Brittany, but the language was French. They stayed in country taverns that had fleas in the straw. Jeanette and her son were given what passed for the best room while Thomas shared the stables with the two servants. They met two priests on the road, but neither suspected that Thomas was an imposter. He greeted them in Latin, which he spoke better than they did, and both men wished him a good day and a fervent Godspeed. Thomas could almost feel their relief when he did not engage them in further conversation. The Dominicans were not popular with parish priests. The friars were priests themselves, but were charged with the suppression of heresy so a visitation by the Dominicans suggested that a parish priest has not been doing his duty and even a rough, wild and young friar like Thomas was unwelcome.

They reached Rennes in the afternoon. There were dark clouds in the east against which the city loomed larger than any place Thomas had ever seen. The walls were twice as high as those at Lannion or La Roche-Derrien, and had towers with pointed roofs every few yards to serve as buttresses from which crossbowmen could pour bolts on any attacking force. Above the walls, higher even than the turrets, the church towers or the cathedral, was the citadel, a stronghold of pale stone hung with banners. The smell of the city wafted westwards on a chill wind, a stink of sewage, tan-neries and smoke. The guards at the western gate became excited when they dis-covered the arrows in the wagon, but Jeanette persuaded them that they were trophies she was taking to the Duke. Then they wanted to levy a custom's duty on the fine armour and Jeanette harangued them again, using her title and the Duke's name liberally. The soldiers eventually gave in and allowed the wagon into the narrow streets where shopwares protruded onto the roadway. Beggars ran beside the wagon and soldiers jostled Thomas, who was leading the horse. The city was crammed with soldiers. Most of the men-at-arms were wearing the wreathed white ermine badge, but many had the green grail of Genoa on their tunics, and the presence of so many troops confirmed that the Duke was indeed in the city and readying himself for the campaign that would eject the English from Brittany. They found a tavern beneath the cathedral's looming twin towers. Jeanette wanted to ready herself for her audience with the Duke and demanded a private room, though all she got for her cash was a spider-haunted space beneath the tavern's eaves. The innkeeper, a sallow fellow with a twitch, suggested Thomas would be happier in the Dominican friary that lay by the church of Saint Germain, north of the cathedral, but Thomas declared his mission was to be among sinners, not saints, and so the innkeeper grudgingly said he could sleep in Jeanette's wagon that was parked in the inn yard. But no preaching, father,“ the man added, no preaching. There's enough of that in the city without spoiling the Three Keys. Jeanette's maid brushed her mistress's hair, then coiled and pinned the black tresses into ram's horns that covered her ears. Jeanette put on a red velvet dress that had escaped the sack of her house and which had a skirt that fell from just beneath her breasts to the floor, while the bodice, intricately embroidered with corn-flowers and daisies, hooked tight up to her neck. Its sleeves were full, trimmed with fox fur, and dropped to her red shoes, which had horn buckles. Her hat matched the dress and was trimmed with the same fur and a blue-black veil of lace. She spat on her son's face and rubbed off the dirt, then led him down to the tavern yard. Do you think the veil is right?” she asked Thomas anxiously. Thomas shrugged. It looks right to me."

No, the colour! Is it right with the red?"

He nodded, hiding his astonishment. He had never seen her dressed so fashionably. She looked like a countess now, while her son was in a clean smock and had his hair wetted and smoothed. You're to meet your great-uncle!“ Jeanette told Charles, licking a finger and rubbing at some more dirt on his cheek. And he's nephew to the King of France. Which means you're related to the King! Yes, you are! Aren't you a lucky boy?”

Charles recoiled from his mother's fussing, but she did not notice for she was busy instructing Pierre, her manservant, to stow the armour and sword in a great sack. She wanted the duke to see the armour. I want him to know,“ she told Thomas, that when my son comes of age he will fight for him.”

Pierre, who claimed to be seventy years old, lifted the sack and almost fell over with the weight. Thomas offered to carry it to the citadel instead, but Jeanette would not hear of it.

You might pass for a Scotsman among the common folk, but the Duke's entourage will have men who may have visited the place.“ She smoothed wrinkles from the red velvet skirt. You wait here,” she told Thomas, and I'll send Pierre back with a message, maybe even some money. I'm sure the Duke is going to be generous. I shall demand a pass for you. What name shall I use? A Scot's name? Just Thomas the friar? As soon as he sees you,“ she was now talking to her son, he'll open his purse, won't he? Of course he will.” Pierre managed to hoist the armour onto his shoulder without falling over and Jeanette took her son's hand. I shall send you a message," she promised Thomas.

God's blessing, my child," Thomas said, and may the blessed Saint Guinefort watch over you.

Jeanette wrinkled her nose at that mention of Saint Guinefort, who she had learned from Thomas, was really a dog. I shall put my trust in Saint Renan," she said reprovingly, and with those words she left. Pierre and his wife followed her, and Thomas waited in the yard, offering blessings to ostlers, stray cats and tapmen. Be mad enough, his father had once said, and they will either lock you away or make you a saint.

The night fell, damp and cold, with a gusting wind sighing in the cathedral's towers and rustling the tavern's thatch. Thomas thought of the penance that Father Hobbe had demanded.

Was the lance real? Had it truly smashed through a dragon's scales, pierced the ribs and riven a heart in which cold blood flowed? He thought it was real. His father had believed and his father, though he might have been mad, had been no fool. And the lance had looked old, so very old. Thomas had used to pray to Saint George, but he no longer did and that made him feel guilty so that he dropped to his knees beside the wagon and asked the saint to forgive him his sins, to forgive him for the squire's murder and for imper-sonating a friar. I do not mean to be a bad person, he told the dragon killer, but it is so easy to forget heaven and the saints. And if you wish, he prayed, I will find the lance, but you must tell me what to do with it. Should he restore it to Hookton that, so far as Thomas knew, no longer existed? Or should he return it to whoever had owned it before his grandfather stole it? And who was his grandfather? And why had his father hidden from his family? And why had the family sought him out to take the lance back? Thomas did not know and, for the past three years, he had not cared, but suddenly, in the tavern yard, he found himself consumed by curiosity. He did have a family somewhere. His grandfather had been a soldier and a thief, but who was he? He added a prayer to Saint George to allow him to discover them.

Praying for rain, father?“ one of the ostlers suggested. I reckon we're going to get it. We need it.”

Thomas could have eaten in the tavern, but he was suddenly nervous of the crowded room where the Duke's soldiers and their women sang, boasted and brawled. Nor could he face the landlord's sly suspicions. The man was curious why Thomas did not go to the friary, and even more curious why a friar should travel with a beautiful woman. She is my cousin," Thomas had told the man, who had pretended to believe the lie, but Thomas had no desire to face more questions and so he stayed in the yard and made a poor meal from the dry bread, sour onions and hard cheese that was the only food left in the wagon.

It began to rain and he retreated into the wagon and listened to the drops patter on the canvas cover. He thought of Jeanette and her little son being fed sugared delicacies on silver plates before sleeping between clean linen sheets in some tapestry-hung bedchamber, and then began to feel sorry for himself. He was a fugitive, Jeanette was his only ally and she was too high and mighty for him. Bells announced the shutting of the city's gates. Watchmen walked the streets, looking for fires that could destroy a city in a few hours. Sentries shivered on the walls and Duke Charles's banners flew from the citadel's summit. Thomas was among his enemies, protected by nothing more than wit and a Dominican's robe. And he was alone.

Jeanette became increasingly nervous as she approached the citadel, but she had persuaded herself that Charles of Blois would accept her as a dependant once he met her son who was named for him, and Jeanette's husband had always said that the Duke would like Jeanette if only he could get to know her better. It was true that the Duke had been cold in the past, but her letters must have convinced him of her allegiance and, at the very least, she was certain he would possess the chivalry to look after a woman in distress.

To her surprise it was easier to enter the citadel than it had been to negotiate the city gate. The sentries waved her across the drawbridge, beneath the arch and so into a great courtyard ringed with stables, mews and storehouses. A score of men-at-arms were practising with their swords which, in the gloom of the late after-noon, generated bright sparks. More sparks flowed from a smithy where a horse was being shoed, and Jeanette caught the whiff of burning hoof mingling with the stink of a dungheap and the reek of a decomposing corpse, which hung in chains high on the court-yard wall. A laconic and misspelled placard pronounced the man to have been a thief.

A steward guided her through a second arch and so into a great cold chamber where a score of petitioners waited to see the Duke. A clerk took her name, raising an eyebrow in silent surprise when she announced herself. His grace will be told of your presence," the man said in a bored voice, then dismissed Jeanette to a stone bench that ran along one of the hall's high walls.

Pierre lowered the armour to the floor and squatted beside it while Jeanette sat. Some of the petitioners paced up and down, clutching scrolls and silently mouthing the words they would use when they saw the Duke, while others complained to the clerks that they had already been waiting three, four or even five days. How much longer? A dog lifted its leg against a pillar, then two small boys, six or seven years old, ran into the hall with mock wooden swords. They gazed at the petitioners for a second, then ran up some stairs that were guarded by men-at-arms. Were they the Duke's sons, Jeanette wondered, and she imagined Charles making friends with the boys.

You're going to be happy here," she told him.

I'm hungry, Mama."

We shall eat soon."

She waited. Two women strolled along the gallery at the head of the stairs wearing pale dresses made of expensive linen that seemed to float as they walked and Jeanette suddenly felt shabby in her wrinkled red velvet. You must be polite to the Duke,“ she told Charles, who was getting fretful from hunger. You kneel to him, can you do that? Show me how you kneel.”

I want to go home," Charles said.

Just for Mama, show me how you kneel. That's good!“ Jeanette ruffled her son's hair in praise, then immediately tried to stroke it back into place. From upstairs came the sound of a sweet harp and a breathy flute, and Jeanette thought longingly of the life she wanted. A life fit for a countess, edged with music and handsome men, elegance and power. She would rebuild Plabennec, though with what she did not know, but she would make the tower larger and have a staircase like the one in this hall. An hour passed, then another. It was dark now and the hall was dimly lit by two burning torches that sent smoke into the fan tracery of the high roof. Charles became ever more petulant so Jeanette took him in her arms and tried to rock him to sleep. Two priests, arm in arm, came slowly down the stairs, laughing, and then a servant in the Duke's livery ran down and all the petitioners straightened and looked at the man expectantly. He crossed to the clerk's table, spoke there for a moment, then turned and bowed to Jeanette. She stood. You will wait here,” she told her two servants. The other petitioners stared at her resentfully. She had been the last to enter the hall, yet she was the first to be summoned. Charles dragged his feet and Jeanette struck him lightly on the head to remind him of his manners. The servant walked silently beside her. His grace is in good health?“ Jeanette asked nervously. The servant did not reply, but just led her up the stairs, then turned right down the gallery where rain spat through open windows. They went under an arch and up a further flight of steps at the top of which the servant threw open a high door. The Count of Armorica,” he announced, and his mother." The room was evidently in one of the citadel's turrets for it was circular. A great fireplace was built into one side, while cruciform arrow slits opened onto the grey wet darkness beyond the walls. The circular chamber itself was brilliantly lit by forty or fifty candles that cast their light over hanging tapestries, a great polished table, a chair, a prie-dieu carved with scenes from Christ's passion, and a fur-covered couch. The floor was soft with deerskins. Two clerks worked at a smaller table, while the Duke, gorgeous in a deep blue robe edged with ermine and with a cap to match, sat at the great table. A middle-aged priest, gaunt, white-haired and narrow faced, stood beside the prie-dieu and watched Jeanette with an expression of distaste.

Jeanette curtsied to the Duke and nudged Charles. Kneel," she whispered.

Charles began crying and hid his face in his mother's skirts. The Duke flinched at the child's noise, but said nothing. He was still young, though closer to thirty than to twenty, and had a pale, watchful face. He was thin, had a fair beard and moustache, and long, bony white hands that were clasped in front of his down-turned mouth. His reputation was that of a learned and pious man, but there was a petulance in his expression that made Jeanette wary. She wished he would speak, but all four men in the room just watched her in silence.

I have the honour of presenting your grace's grandnephew,“ Jeanette said, pushing her crying son forward, the Count of Armorica.”

The Duke looked at the boy. His face betrayed nothing. He is named Charles,“ Jeanette said, but she might as well have stayed silent for the Duke still said nothing. The silence was broken only by the child's whimpering and the crackle of flames in the great hearth. I trust your grace received my letters,” Jeanette said nervously.

The priest suddenly spoke, making Jeanette jump with surprise. You came here,“ he said in a high voice, with a servant carrying a burden. What is in it?”

Jeanette realized they must have thought she had brought the Duke a gift and she blushed for she had not thought to bring one. Even a small token would have been a tactful gesture, but she had simply not remembered that courtesy. It contains my dead husband's armour and sword,“ she said, which I rescued from the English who have otherwise left me with nothing. Nothing. I am keeping the armour and sword for my son, so that one day he can use them to fight for his liege lord.” She bowed her head to the Duke.

The Duke steepled his fingers. To Jeanette it seemed he never blinked and that was as unsettling as his silence.

His grace would like to see the armour, the priest announced, though the Duke had shown no sign of wishing anything at all. The priest snapped his fingers and one of the clerks left the room. The second clerk, armed with a small pair of scissors, went round the big chamber trimming the wicks of the many candles in their tall iron holders. The Duke and the priest ignored him. You say,“ the priest spoke again, that you wrote letters to his grace. Concerning what?”

I wrote about the new defences at La Roche-Derrien, father, and I warned his grace of the English attack on Lannion.“ So you say,” the priest said,'s o you say." Charles was still crying and Jeanette jerked his hand hard in the hope of stilling him, but he just whined more. The clerk, head averted from the Duke, went from candle to candle. The scissors snipped, a puff of smoke would writhe for a heartbeat, then the flame would brighten and settle. Charles began crying louder.

His grace,“ the priest said, does not like snivelling infants.” He is hungry, father,“ Jeanette explained nervously. You came with two servants?”

Yes, father," Jeanette said.

They can eat with the boy in the kitchens," the priest said, and snapped his fingers towards the candle-trimming clerk, who, aban-doning his scissors on a rug, took the frightened Charles by the hand. The boy did not want to leave his mother, but he was dragged away and Jean ette flinched as the sound of his crying receded down the stairs.

The Duke, other than steepling his fingers, had not moved. He just watched Jeanette with an unreadable expression.

You say,“ the priest took up the questioning again, that the English left you with nothing?”

They stole all I had!"

The priest flinched at the passion in her voice. If they left you destitute, madame, then why did you not come for our help earlier?"

I did not wish to be a burden, father."

But now you do wish to become a burden?"

Jeanette frowned. I have brought his grace's nephew, the Lord of Plabennec. Or would you rather that he grew up among the English?"

Do not be impertinent, child,“ the priest said placidly. The first clerk re-entered the room carrying the sack, which he emptied on the deerskins in front of the Duke's table. The Duke gazed at the armour for a few seconds, then settled back in his high carved chair. It is very fine,” the priest declared.

It is most precious," Jeanette agreed.

The Duke peered again at the armour. Not a muscle of his face moved.

His grace approves," the priest said, then gestured with a long white hand and the clerk, who seemed to understand what was wanted without words, gathered up the sword and armour and carried them from the room.

I am glad your grace approves," Jeanette said, and dropped another curtsy. She had a confused idea that the Duke, despite her earlier words, had assumed the armour and sword were a gift, but she did not want to enquire. It could all be cleared up later A gust of cold wind came through the arrow slits to bring spots of rain and to flicker the candles in wild shudders.

So what,“ the priest asked, do you require of us?” My son needs shelter, father,“ Jeanette said nervously He needs a house, a place to grow and learn to be a warrior.” His grace is pleased to grant that request," the priest said. Jeanette felt a great wash of relief. The atmosphere in the room was so unfriendly that she had feared she would be thrown out as destitute as she had arrived, but the priest's words, though coldly stated, told her that she need not have worried. The Duke was taking his responsibility and she curtsied for a third time. I am grateful, your grace.

The priest was about to respond, but, to Jeanette's surprise, the Duke held up one long white hand and the priest bowed. It is our pleasure,“ the Duke said in an oddly high-pitched voice, for your son is dear to us and it is our desire that he grows to become a warrior like his father.” He turned to the priest and inclined his head, and the priest gave another stately bow then left the room.

The Duke stood and walked to the fire where he held his hands to the small flames. It has come to our notice,“ he said distantly, that the rents of Plabennec have not been paid these twelve quarters.”

The English are in possession of the domain, your grace. And you are in debt to me," the Duke said, frowning at the flames.

If you protect my son, your grace, then I shall be for ever in your debt," Jeanette said humbly.

The Duke took off his cap and ran a hand through his fair hair. Jeanette thought he looked younger and kinder without the hat, but his next words chilled her. I did not want Henri to marry you." He stopped abruptly.

For a heartbeat Jeanette was struck dumb by his frankness. My husband regretted your grace's disapproval," she finally said in a small voice.

The Duke ignored Jeanette's words. He should have married Lisette of Picard. She had money, lands, tenants. She would have brought our family great wealth. In times of trouble wealth is a . he paused, trying to find the right word, it is a cushion. You, madame, have no cushion.

Only your grace's kindness," Jeanette said.

Your son is my charge,“ the Duke said. He will be raised in my household and trained in the arts of war and civilization as befits his rank.”

I am grateful." Jeanette was tired of grovelling. She wanted some sign of affection from the Duke, but ever since he had walked to the hearth he would not meet her eyes.

Now, suddenly, he turned on her. There is a lawyer called Belas in La Roche-Derrien?"

Indeed, your grace.

He tells me your mother was a Jewess.“ He spat the last word. Jeanette gaped at him. For a few heartbeats she was unable to speak. Her mind was reeling with disbelief that Belas would say such a thing, but at last she managed to shake her head. She was not!” she protested.

He tells us, too,“ the Duke went on, that you petitioned Edward of England for the rents of Plabennec?”

What choice did I have?"

And that your son was made a ward of Edward's?" the Duke asked pointedly.

Jeanette opened and closed her mouth. The accusations were coming so thick and fast she did not know how to defend herself. It was true that her son had been named a ward of King Edward's, but it had not been Jeanette's doing; indeed, she had not even been present when the Earl of Northampton made that decision, but before she could protest or explain the Duke spoke again. Belas tells us,“ he said, that many in the town of La Roche-Derrien have expressed satisfaction with the English occupiers?” Some have," Jeanette admitted.

And that you, madame, have English soldiers in your own house, guarding you."

They forced themselves on my house!“ she said indignantly. Your grace must believe me! I did not want them there!” The Duke shook his head. It seems to us, madame, that you have given a welcome to our enemies. Your father was a vintner, was he not?"

Jeanette was too astonished to say anything. It was slowly dawn-ing on her that Belas had betrayed her utterly, yet she still clung to the hope that the Duke would be convinced of her innocence. I offered them no welcome,“ she insisted. I fought against them!” Merchants,“ the Duke said, have no loyalties other than to money. They have no honour. Honour is not learned, madame. It is bred. Just as you breed a horse for bravery and speed, or a hound for agility and ferocity, so you breed a nobleman for honour. You cannot turn a plough-horse into a destrier, nor a merchant into a gentleman. It is against nature and the laws of God.” He made the sign of the cross. Your son is Count of Armorica, and we shall raise him in honour, but you, madame, are the daughter of a merchant and a Jewess."

It is not true!" Jeanette protested.

Do not shout at me, madame,“ the Duke said icily. You are a burden on me. You dare to come here, tricked out in fox fur, expecting me to give you shelter? What else? Money? I will give your son a home, but you, madame, I shall give you a husband.” He walked towards her, his feet silent on the deerskin rugs. You are not fit to be the Count of Armorica's mother. You have offered comfort to the enemy, you have no honour."

I , Jeanette began to protest again, but the Duke slapped her hard across the cheek.

You will be silent, madame,“ he commanded,'s ilent.” He pulled at the laces of her bodice and, when she dared to resist, he slapped her again. You are a whore, madame,“ the Duke said, then lost patience with the intricate cross-laces, retrieved the discarded scissors from the rug and used them to cut through the laces to expose Jeanette's breasts. She was so astonished, stunned and horri-fied that she made no attempt to protect herself. This was not Sir Simon Jekyll, but her liege lord, the King's nephew and her hus-band's uncle. You are a pretty whore, madame,” the Duke said with a sneer. How did you enchant Henri? Was it Jewish witcheraft?“ No,” Jeanette whimpered, please, no!"

The Duke unhooked his gown and Jeanette saw he was naked beneath.

No,“ she said again, please, no.”

The Duke pushed her hard so that she fell on the bed. His face still showed no emotion, not lust, not pleasure, not anger. He hauled her skirts up, then knelt on the bed and raped her with no sign of enjoyment. He seemed, if anything, angry, and when he was done he collapsed on her, then shuddered. Jeanette was weeping. He wiped himself on her velvet skirt. I shall take that experience,“ he said, as payment of the missing rents from Plabennec.” He crawled off her, stood and hooked the ermine edges of his gown. You will be placed in a chamber here, madame, and tomorrow I shall give you in marriage to one of my men-at-arms. Your son will stay here, but you will go wherever your new husband is posted."

Jeanette was whimpering on the bed. The Duke grimaced with distaste, then crossed the room and kneeled on the prie-dieu. Arrange your gown, madame,“ he said coldly, and compose yourself.”

Jeanette rescued enough of the cut laces to tie her bodice into place, then looked at the Duke through the candle flames. You have no honour," she hissed, you have no honour. The Duke ignored her. He rang a small handbell, then clasped his hands and closed his eyes in prayer. He was still praying when the priest and a servant came and, without a word, took Jeanette by her arms and walked her to a small room on the floor beneath the Duke's chamber. They thrust her inside, shut the door and she heard a bolt slide into place on the far side. There was a straw-filled mattress and a stack of brooms in the makeshift cell, but no other furnishing.

She lay on the mattress and sobbed till her broken heart was raw.

The wind howled at the window and rain beat on its shutters,, and Jeanette wished she was dead.

The city's cockerels woke Thomas to a brisk wind and pouring rain that beat on the cart's leaking cover. He opened the flap and sat watching the puddles spread across the cobbles of the inn yard. No message had come from Jeanette, nor, he thought, would there be one. Will Skeat had been right. She was as hard as mail and, now she was in her proper place, which, in this cold, wet dawn, was probably a deep bed in a room warmed by a fire tended by the Duke's servants, she would have forgotten Thomas.

And what message, Thomas asked himself, had he been

expecting? A declaration of affection? He knew that was what he wanted, but he persuaded himself he merely waited so Jeanette could send him the pass signed by the Duke, yet he knew he did not need a pass. He must just walk east and north, and trust that the Dominican's robe protected him. He had little idea how to reach Flanders, but had a notion that Paris lay somewhere close to that region so he reckoned he would start by following the River Seine, which would lead him from Rennes to Paris. His biggest worry was that he would meet some real Dominican on the road, who would quickly discover Thomas had only the haziest notion of the brother-hood's rules and no knowledge at all of their hierarchy, but he consoled himself that Scottish Dominicans were probably so far from civilization that such ignorance would be expected of them. He would survive, he told himself.

He stared at the rain spattering in the puddles. Expect nothing from Jeanette, he told himself, and to prove that he believed that bleak prophecy he readied his small baggage. It irked him to leave the mail coat behind, but it weighed too much, so he stowed it in the wagon, then put the three sheaves of arrows into a sack. The seventy-two arrows were heavy and their points threatened to tear open the sack, but he was reluctant to travel without the sheaves that were wrapped in hempen bowstring cord and he used one cord to tie his knife to his left leg where, like his money pouch, it was hidden by the black robe.

He was ready to go, but the rain was now hammering the city like an arrow storm. Thunder crackled to the west, the rain pelted on the thatch, poured off the roofs and overflowed the water butts to wash the inn's nightsoil out of the yard. Midday came, heralded

by the city's rain-muffled bells, and still the city drowned. Wind-driven dark clouds wreathed the cathedral's towers and Thomas told himself he would leave the moment the rain slackened, but the storm just became fiercer. Lightning flickered above the cathedral and a clap of thunder rocked the city. Thomas shivered, awed by the sky's fury. He watched the lightning reflected in the cathedral's great west window and was amazed by the sight. So much glass! Still it rained and he began to fear that he would be trapped in the cart till the next day. And then, just after a peal of thunder seemed to stun the whole city with its violence, he saw Jeanette.

He did not know her at first. He just saw a woman standing in the arched entrance to the inn's yard with the water flowing about her shoes. Everyone else in Rennes was huddling in shelter, but this woman suddenly appeared, soaked and miserable. Her hair, which had been looped so carefully over her ears, hung lank and black down the sopping red velvet dress, and it was that dress that Thomas recognized, then he saw the grief on her face. He clambered out of the wagon.

Jeanette!"

She was weeping, her mouth distorted by grief. She seemed incapable of speaking, but just stood and cried.

My lady!“ Thomas said. Jeanette!”

We must go,“ she managed to say, we must go.” She had used soot as a cosmetic about her eyes and it had run to make grey streaks down her face.

We can't go in this!" Thomas said.

We must go!“ she screamed at him angrily. We must go!” I'll get the horse," Thomas said.

There's no time! There's no time!“ She plucked at his robe. We must go. Now!” She tried to tug him through the arch into the street.

Thomas pulled away from her and ran to the wagon where he retrieved his disguised bow and the heavy sack. There was a cloak of Jeanette's there and he took that too and wrapped it about her shoulders, though she did not seem to notice.

What's happening?" Thomas demanded.

They'll find me here, they'll find me!" Jeanette declared in a panic, and she pulled him blindly out of the tavern's archway. Thomas turned her eastwards onto a crooked street that led to a fine stone bridge across the Seine and then to a city gate. The big gates were barred, but a small door in one of the gates was open and the guards in the tower did not care if some fool of a drenched friar wanted to take a madly sobbing woman out of the city. Jeanette kept looking back, fearing pursuit, but still did not explain her panic or her tears to Thomas. She just hurried eastwards, insensible to the rain, wind and thunder.

The storm eased towards dusk, by which time they were close to a village that had a poor excuse for a tavern. Thomas ducked under the low doorway and asked for shelter. He put coins on a table. I need shelter for my sister,“ he said, reckoning that anyone would be suspicious of a friar travelling with a woman. Shelter, food and a fire,” he said, adding another coin.

Your sister?" The tavern-keeper, a small man with a face scarred by the pox and bulbous with wens, peered at Jeanette, who was crouched in the tavern's porch.

Thomas touched his head, suggesting she was mad. I am taking her to the shrine of Saint Guinefort,“ he explained. The tavern-keeper looked at the coins, glanced again at Jeanette, then decided the strange pair could have the use of an empty cattle byre. You can put a fire there,” he said grudgingly, but don't burn the thatch."

Thomas lit a fire with embers from the tavern's kitchen, then fetched food and ale. He forced Jeanette to eat some of the soup and bread, then made her go close to the fire. It took over two hours of coaxing before she would tell him the story, and telling it only made her cry again. Thomas listened, appalled.

So how did you escape?" he asked when she was finished. A woman had unbolted the room, Jeanette said, to fetch a broom. The woman had been astonished to see Jeanette there, and even more astonished when Jeanette ran past her. Jeanette had fled the citadel, fearing the soldiers would stop her, but no one had taken any notice of her and now she was running away. Like Thomas she was a fugitive, but she had lost far more than he. She had lost her son, her honour and her future.

I hate men,“ she said. She shivered, for the miserable fire of damp straw and rotted wood had scarcely dried her clothes. I hate men,” she said again, then looked at Thomas. What are we going to do?"

You must sleep,“ he said, and tomorrow we'll go north.” She nodded, but he did not think she had understood his words. She was in despair. The wheel of fortune that had once raised her so high had taken her into the utter depths.

She slept for a time, but when Thomas woke in the grey dawn he saw she was crying softly and he did not know what to do or say, so he just lay in the straw until he heard the tavern door creak open, then went to fetch some food and water. The tavern-keeper's wife cut some bread and cheese while her husband asked Thomas how far he had to walk.

Saint Guinefort's shrine is in Flanders,“ Thomas said. Flanders!” the man said, as though it was on the far side of the moon.

The family doesn't know what else to do with her,“ Thomas explained, and I don't know how to reach Flanders. I thought to go to Paris first.”

Not Paris,“ the tavern-keeper's wife said scornfully, you must go to Fougeres.” Her father, she said, had often traded with the north countries and she was sure that Thomas's route lay through Fougeres and Rouen. She did not know the roads beyond Rouen, but was certain he must go that far, though to begin, she said, he must take a small road that went north from the village. It went through woods, her husband added, and he must be careful for the trees were hiding places for terrible men escaping justice, but after a few miles he would come to the Fougeres highway, which was patrolled by the Duke's men.

Thomas thanked her, offered a blessing to the house, then took the food to Jeanette, who refused to eat. She seemed drained of tears, almost of life, but she followed Thomas willingly enough as he walked north. The road, deep rutted by wagons and slick with mud from the previous day's rain, twisted into deep woods that dripped with water. Jeanette stumbled for a few miles, then began to cry. I must go back to Rennes," she insisted. I want to go back to my son.

Thomas argued, but she would not be moved. He finally gave in, but when he turned to walk south she just began to cry even harder. The Duke had said she was not a fit mother! She kept repeating the words, Not fit! Not fit!“ She screamed at the sky. He made me his whore!” Then she sank onto her knees beside the road and sobbed uncontrollably. She was shivering again and Thomas thought that if she did not die of an ague then the grief would surely kill her.

We're going back to Rennes," Thomas said, trying to encourage her.

I can't!“ she wailed. He'll just whore me! Whore me!” She shouted the words, then began rocking back and forwards and shrieking in a terrible high voice. Thomas tried to raise her up, tried to make her walk, but she fought him. She wanted to die, she said, she just wanted to die. A whore,“ she screamed, and tore at the fox-fur trimmings of her red dress, a whore! He said I shouldn't wear fur. He made me a whore.” She threw the tattered fur into the undergrowth.

It had been a dry morning, but the rain clouds were heaping in the east again, and Thomas was nervously watching as Jeanette's soul unravelled before his eyes. She refused to walk, so he picked her up and carried her until he saw a well-trodden path going into the trees. He followed it to find a cottage so low, and with its thatch so covered with moss that at first he thought it was just a mound among the trees until he saw blue-grey woodsmoke seeping from a hole at its top. Thomas was worried about the outlaws who were said to haunt these woods, but it was beginning to rain again and the cottage was the only refuge in sight, so Thomas lowered Jeanette to the ground and shouted through the burrow-like entrance. An old man, white-haired, red-eyed and with skin black-ened by smoke, peered back at Thomas. The man spoke a French so thick with local words and accent that Thomas could scarcely understand him, but he gathered the man was a forester and lived here with his wife, and the forester looked greedily at the coins Thomas offered, then said that Thomas and his woman could use an empty pig shelter. The place stank of rotted straw and shit, but the thatch was almost ramproof and Jeanette did not seem to care. Thomas raked out the old straw, then cut Jeanette a bed of bracken. The forester, once the money was in his hands, seemed little inter-ested in his guests, but in the middle of the afternoon, when the rain had stopped, Thomas heard the forester's wife hissing at him and, a few moments later, the old man left and walked towards the road, but without any of the tools of his trade; no axe, billhook or saw.

Jeanette was sleeping, exhausted, so Thomas stripped the dead clover plants from his black bow, unlashed the crosspiece and put back the horn tips. He strung the yew, thrust half a dozen arrows into his belt and followed the old man as far as the road, and there he waited in a thicket.

The forester returned towards evening with two young men whom Thomas presumed were the outlaws of whom he had been warned. The old man must have reckoned that Thomas and his woman were fugitives, for though they carried bags and money, they had sought a hiding place and that was enough to raise any-one's suspicions. A friar did not need to skulk in the trees, and women wearing dresses trimmed with torn remnants of fur did not seek a forester's hospitality. So doubtless the two young men had been fetched to help slit Thomas's throat and then divide whatever coins they found on his body. Jeanette's fate would be similar, but delayed.

Thomas put his first arrow into the ground between the old man's feet and the second into a tree close by. The next arrow kills,“ he said, though they could not see him for he was in the thicket's shadows. They just stared wide-eyed at the bushes where he was hiding and Thomas made his voice deep and slow. You come with murder in your souls,” he said, but I can raise the hellequin from the deeps of hell. I can make the devil's claws cut to your heart and have the dead haunt your daylight. You will leave the friar and his sister alone."

The old man dropped to his knees. His superstitions were as old as time and scarcely touched by Christianity. He believed there were trolls in the forest and giants in the mist. He knew there were dragons. He had heard of black-skinned men who lived on the moon and who dropped to earth when their home shrank to a sickle. He understood there were ghosts who hunted among the trees. All this he knew as well as he knew ash and larch, oak and beech, and he did not doubt that it was a demon who had spat the strangely long arrow from the thicket.

You must go,“ he told his companions, you must go!” The two fled and the old man touched his forehead to the leaf mould. I meant no harm!"

Go home," Thomas said.

He waited till the old man had gone, then he dug the arrow out of the tree and that night he went to the forester's cottage, crawled through the low doorway and sat on the earthen floor facing the old couple.

I shall stay here,“ he told them, until my sister's wits are recov-ered. We wish to hide her shame from the world, that is all. When we go we shall reward you, but if you try to kill us again I shall summon demons to torment you and I will leave your corpses as a feast for the wild things that lurk in the trees.” He put another small coin on the earth floor. You will bring us food each night,“ he told the woman, and you will thank God that though I can read your hearts I still forgive you.”

They had no more trouble after that. Every day the old man went off into the trees with his billhook and axe, and every night his wife brought her visitors gruel or bread. Thomas took milk from their cow, shot a deer and thought Jeanette would die. For days she refused to eat, and sometimes he would find her rocking back and forth in the noxious shed and making a keening noise. Thomas feared she had gone mad for ever. His father would sometimes tell him how the mad were treated, how he himself had been treated, how starvation and beating were the only cures. The devil gets into the soul,“ Father Ralph had said, and he can be starved out or he can be thrashed out, but there is no way he will be coaxed out. Beat and starve, boy, beat and starve, it is the only treatment the devil understands.” But Thomas could neither starve nor beat Jeanette, so he did his best by her. He kept her dry, he persuaded her to take some warm milk fresh from the cow, he talked with her through the nights, he combed her hair and washed her face and sometimes, when she was sleeping and he was sitting by the shed and staring at the stars through the tangled trees, he would wonder whether he and the hellequin had left other women as broken as Jeanette. He prayed for forgiveness. He prayed a lot in those days, and not to Saint Guinefort, but to the Virgin and to Saint George.

The prayers must have worked for he woke one dawn to see Jeanette sitting in the shed's doorway with her thin body outlined by the bright new day. She turned to him and he saw there was no madness in her face any more, just a profound sorrow. She looked at him a long time before she spoke.

Did God send you to me, Thomas?"

He showed me great favour if He did,“ Thomas replied. She smiled at that, the first smile he had seen on her face since Rennes. I have to be content,” she said very earnestly, because my son is alive and he will be properly cared for and one day I shall find him."

We both shall," Thomas said.

Both?"

He grimaced. I have kept none of my promises,“ he said. The lance is still in Normandy, Sir Simon lives, and how I shall find your son for you, I do not know. I think my promises are worthless, but I shall do my best.”

She held out her hand so he could take it and she let it stay there. We have been punished, you and I,“ she said, probably for the sin of pride. The Duke was right. I am no aristocrat. I am a merchant's daughter, but thought I was higher. Now look at me.” Thinner,“ Thomas said, but beautiful.”

She shuddered at that compliment. Where are we?“ Just a day outside Rennes.”

Is that all?"

In a pig shed,“ Thomas said, a day out of Rennes.” Four years ago I lived in a castle,“ she said wistfully. Plabennec wasn't large, but it was beautiful. It had a tower and a courtyard and two mills and a stream and an orchard that grew very red apples.”

You will see them again,“ Thomas said, you and your son. He regretted mentioning her son for tears came to her eyes, but she cuffed them away. It was the lawyer,” she said. Lawyer?"

Belas. He lied to the Duke.“ There was a kind of wonderment in her voice that Belas had proved so traitorous. He told the Duke I was supporting Duke Jean. Then I will, Thomas, I will. I will support your duke. If that is the only way to regain Plabennec and find my son then I shall support Duke Jean.” She squeezed Thomas's hand. I'm hungry."

They spent another week in the forest while Jeanette recovered her strength. For a while, like a beast struggling to escape a trap, she devised schemes that would give her instant revenge on Duke Charles and restore her son, but the schemes were wild and hopeless and, as the days passed, she accepted her fate.

I have no friends,“ she said to Thomas one night. You have me, my lady.”

They died,“ she said, ignoring him. My family died. My husband died. Do you think I am a curse on those I love?” I think,“ Thomas said, that we must go north.” She was irritated by his practicality. I'm not sure I want to go north."

I do," Thomas said stubbornly.

Jeanette knew that the further north she went, the further she went from her son, but she did not know what else to do, and that night, as if accepting that she would now be guided by Thomas, she came to his bracken bed and they were lovers. She wept after-wards, but then made love to him again, this time fiercely, as though she could slake her misery in the consolations of the flesh. Next morning they left, going north. Summer had come, clothing the countryside in thick green. Thomas had disguised the bow again, lashing the crosspiece to the stave and hanging it with bindweed and willowherb instead of clover. His black robe had become ragged and no one would have taken him for a friar, while Jeanette had stripped the remains of the fox fur from the red velvet, which was dirty, creased and threadbare. They looked like vagabonds, which they were, and they moved like fugitives, skirting the towns and bigger villages to avoid trouble. They bathed in streams, slept beneath the trees and only ventured into the smallest villages when hunger demanded they buy a meal and cider in some slattemly tavern. If they were challenged they claimed to be Bretons, brother and sister, going to join their uncle who was a butcher in Flanders, and if anyone disbelieved the tale they were unwilling to cross Thomas, who was tall and strong and always kept his knife visible. By preference, though, they avoided villages and stayed in the woods where Thomas taught Jeanette how to tickle the trout out of their streams. They would light fires, cook their fish and cut bracken for a bed.

They kept close to the road, though they were forced to a long detour to avoid the drum-like fortress of St-Aubin-du-Cormier, and another to skirt the city of Fougeres, and somewhere north of that city they entered Normandy. They milked cows in their pastures, stole a great cheese from a wagon parked outside a church and slept under the stars. They had no idea what day of the week it was, nor even what month it was any more. Both were browned by the sun and made ragged by travelling. Jeanette's misery was dissolved in a new happiness, and nowhere more than when they discovered an abandoned cottage, merely cob walls of mud and straw, that were decaying without a roof in a spinney of hazel trees. They cleared away the nettles and brambles and lived in the cottage for more than a week, seeing no one, wanting to see no one, delaying their future because the present was so blissful. Jeanette could still weep for her son and spent hours devising exquisite revenges to be taken against the Duke, against Belas and against Sir Simon Jekyll, but she also revelled in that summer's freedom. Thomas had fitted his bow again so he could hunt and Jeanette, growlng ever stronger, had learned to pull it back almost to her chin.

Neither knew where they were and did not much care. Thomas's mother used to tell him a tale of children who ran away into the forest and were reared by the beasts. They grow hair all over their bodies,“ she would tell him, and have claws and horns and teeth,” and now Thomas would sometimes examine his hands to see if claws were coming. He saw none. Yet if he was becoming a beast then he was happy. He had rarely been happier, but he knew that the winter, even though far of was nevertheless coming and so, perhaps a week after midsummer, they moved gently north again in search of something that neither of them could quite imagine. Thomas knew he had promised to retrieve a lance and restore Jeanette's son, but he did not know how he was to do either of those things. He only knew he must go to a place where a man like Will Skeat would employ him, though he could not talk of such a future with Jeanette. She did not want to hear about archers or armies, or of men and mail coats, but she, like him, knew they could not stay for ever in their refuge.

I shall go to England,“ she told him, and appeal to your king.” Out of all the schemes she had dreamed of this was the only one that made sense. The Earl of Northampton had placed her son under the King of England's protection, so she must appeal to Edward and hope he would support her.

They walked north, still keeping the road to Rouen in sight. They forded a river and climbed into a broken country of small fields, deep woods and abrupt hills, and somewhere in that green land, unheard by either of them, the wheel of fortune creaked again. Thomas knew that the great wheel governed mankind, it turned in the dark to determine good or evil, high or low, sickness or health, happiness or misery. Thomas reckoned God must have made the wheel to be the mechanism by which He ruled the world while He was busy in heaven, and in that midsummer, when the harvest was being flailed on the threshing floors, and the swifts were gathering in the high trees, and the rowan trees were in scarlet berry, and the pastures were white with ox-eye daisies, the wheel lurched for Thomas and Jeanette.

They walked to the wood's edge one day to check that the road was still in view. They usually saw little more than a man driving some cows to market, a group of women following with eggs and vegetables to sell. A priest might pass on a poor horse, and once they had seen a knight with his retinue of servants and men-at-arms, but most days the road lay white, dusty and empty under the summer sun. Yet this day it was full. Folk were walking southwards, driving cows and pigs and sheep and goats and geese. Some pushed hand-carts, others had wagons drawn by oxen or horses, and all the carts were loaded high with stools, tables, benches and beds. Thomas knew he was seeing fugitives.

They waited till it was dark, then Thomas beat the worst dirt off the Dominican's gown and, leaving Jeanette in the trees, walked down to the road where some of the travellers were camping beside small, smoky fires.

God's peace be on you,“ Thomas said to one group. We have no food to spare, father,” a man answered, eyeing the stranger suspiciously.

I am fed, my son,“ Thomas said, and squatted near their fire. Are you a priest or a vagabond?” the man asked. He had an axe and he drew it towards him protectively, for Thomas's tangled hair was wildly long and his face as dark as any outlaw's. I am both,“ Thomas said with a smile. I have walked from Avig-non,” he explained, to do penance at the shrine of Saint Guinefort.“ None of the refugees had ever heard of the Blessed Guinefort, but Thomas's words convinced them, for the idea of pilgrimage explained his woebegone condition while their own sad condition, they made clear, was caused by war. They had come from the coast of Normandy, only a day's journey away, and in the morning they must be up early and travelling again to escape the enemy. Thomas made the sign of the cross. What enemy?” he asked, expecting to hear that two Norman lords had fallen out and were ravaging each other's estates.

But the ponderous wheel of fortune had turned unexpectedly. King Edward III of England had crossed the Channel. Such an expedition had long been expected, but the King had not gone to his lands in Gascony, as many had thought he would, nor to Flanders where other Englishmen fought, but had come to Nor-mandy. His army was just a day away and, at the news, Thomas's mouth dropped open.

You should flee them, father , one of the women advised Thomas. They know no pity, not even for friars." Thomas assured them he would, thanked them for their news, then walked back up the hill to where Jeanette waited. All had changed.

His king had come to Normandy.

They argued that night. Jeanette was suddenly convinced they should turn back to Brittany and Thomas could only stare at her in astonishment.

Brittany?" he asked faintly.

She would not meet his eyes, but stubbornly stared at the camp-fires that burned all along the road, while further north, on the night's horizon, great red glows showed where larger fires burned, and Thomas knew that English soldiers must have been ravaging the fields of Normandy just as the hellequin had harrowed Brittany. I can be near Charles if I'm in Brittany," Jeanette said. Thomas shook his head. He was dimly aware that the sight of the army's destruction had forced them both into a reality from which they had been escaping in these last weeks of freedom, but he could not connect that with her sudden wish to head back to Brittanny.

You can be near Charles,“ he said carefully, but can you see him? Will the Duke let you near him?”

Maybe he will change his mind," Jeanette said without much conviction.

And maybe he'll rape you again,“ Thomas said brutally. And if I don't go,” she said vehemently, maybe I will never see Charles again. Never!"

Then why come this far?"

I don't know, I don't know.“ She was angry as she used to be when Thomas first met her in La Roche-Derrien. Because I was mad,” she said sullenly.

You say you want to appeal to the King,“ Thomas said, and he's here!” He flung a hand towards the livid glow of the fires. So appeal to him here."

Maybe he won't believe me,“ Jeanette said stubbornly. And what will we do in Brittany?” Thomas asked, but Jeanette would not answer. She looked sulky and still avoided his gaze. You can marry one of the Duke's men-at-arms,“ Thomas went on, that's what he wanted, isn't it? A pliant wife of a pliant follower so that when he feels like taking his pleasure, he can.” Isn't that what you do?" she challenged him, looking him in the face at last.

I love you," Thomas said.

Jeanette said nothing.

I do love you," Thomas said, and felt foolish for she had never said the same to him.

Jeanette looked at the glowing horizon that was tangled by the leaves of the forest. Will your king believe me?“ she asked him. How can he not?”

Do I look like a countess?"

She looked ragged, poor and beautiful. You speak like a coun-tess,“ Thomas said, and the King's clerks will make enquiries of the Earl of Northampton.” He did not know if that was true, but he wanted to encourage her.

Jeanette sat with her head bowed. Do you know what the Duke told me? That my mother was a Jewess!" She looked up at him, expecting him to share her indignation.

Thomas frowned. I've never met a Jew,“ he said. Jeanette almost exploded. You think I have? You need to meet the devil to know he is bad? A pig to discover he stinks?” She began to weep. I don't know what to do."

We shall go to the King,“ Thomas said, and next morning he walked north and, after a few heartbeats, Jeanette followed him. She had tried to clean her dress, though it was so filthy that all she could manage was to brush the twigs and leaf mould from the velvet. She coiled her hair and pinned it with slivers of wood. What kind of man is the King?” she asked Thomas. They say he's a good man.

Who says?"

Everyone. He's straightforward."

He's still English,“ Jeanette said softly, and Thomas pretended not to hear. Is he kind?” she asked him.

No one says he's cruel," Thomas said, then held up a hand to silence Jeanette.

He had seen horsemen in mail.

Thomas had often found it strange that when the monks and scriveners made their books they painted warfare as gaudy. Their squirrel-hair brushes showed men in brightly coloured surcoats or jupons, and their horses in brilliantly patterned trappers. Yet for most of the time war was grey until the arrows bit, when it became shot through with red. Grey was the colour of a mail coat, and Thomas was seeing grey among the green leaves. He did not know if they were Frenchmen or Englishmen, but he feared both. The French were his enemy, but so were the English until they were convinced that he was English too, and convinced, moreover, that he was not a deserter from their army.

More horsemen came from the distant trees and these men were carrying bows, so they had to be English. Still Thomas hesitated, reluctant to face the problems of persuading his own side that he was not a deserter. Beyond the horsemen, hidden by the trees, a building must have been set on fire for smoke began to thicken above the summer leaves. The horsemen were looking towards Thomas and Jeanette, but the pair were hidden by a bank of gorse and after a while, satisfied that no enemy threatened, the troops turned and rode eastwards.

Thomas waited till they were out of sight, then led Jean ette across the open land, into the trees and out to where a farm burned. The flames were pale in the bright sun. No one was in sight. There was just a farm blazing and a dog lying next to a duck pond that was surrounded by feathers. The dog was whimpering and Jeanette cried out for it had been stabbed in the belly. Thomas stooped beside the beast, stroked its head and fondled its ears and the dying dog licked his hand and tried to wag its tail and Thomas rammed his knife deep into its heart so that it died swiftly.

It would not have lived,“ he told Jeanette. She said nothing, just stared at the burning thatch and rafters. Thomas pulled out the knife and patted the dog's head. Go to Saint Guinefort,” he said, cleaning the blade. I always wanted a dog when I was a child,“ he told Jeanette, but my father couldn't abide them.”

Why?"

Because he was strange." He sheathed the knife and stood. A track, imprinted with hoofmarks, led north from the farm, and they followed it cautiously between hedges thick with cornflowers, ox-eye and dogwood. They were in a country of small fields, high banks, sudden woods and lumpy hills, a country for ambush, but they saw no one until, from the top of a low hill, they glimpsed a squat stone church tower in a valley and then the unburned roofs of a village and after that the soldiers. There were hundreds of them camped in the fields beyond the cottages, and more in the village itself. Some large tents had been raised close to the church and they had the banners of nobles planted by their entrances. Thomas still hesitated, reluctant to finish these good days with Jeanette, yet he knew there was no choice and so, bow on his shoulder, he took her down to the village. Men saw them coming and a dozen archers, led by a burly man in a mail hauberk, came to meet them.

What the hell are you?“ was the burly man's first question. His archers grinned wolfishly at the sight of Jeanette's ragged dress. You're either a bleeding priest who stole a bow,” the man went on, or an archer who filched a priest's robe."

I'm English," Thomas said.

The big man seemed unimpressed. Serving who?"

I was with Will Skeat in Brittany,“ Thomas said. Brittany!” The big man frowned, not certain whether or not to believe Thomas.

Tell them I'm a countess,“ Jeanette urged Thomas in French. What's she saying?”

Nothing," Thomas said.

So what are you doing here?“ the big man asked. I got cut off from my troop in Brittany,” Thomas said weakly. He could hardly tell the truth, that he was a fugitive from justice

- but he had no other tale prepared. I just walked.“ It was a lame explanation and the big man treated it with the scorn it deserved. What you mean, lad,” he said, is that you're a bloody deserter."

I'd hardly come here if I was, would I?“ Thomas asked defiantly. You'd hardly come here from Brittany if you just got lost!” the man pointed out. He spat. You'll have to go to Scoresby, let him decide what you are.

Scoresby?" Thomas asked.

You've heard of him?“ the big man asked belligerently. Thomas had heard of Walter Scoresby who, like Skeat, was a man who led his own band of men-at-arms and archers, but Scoresby did not have Skeat's good reputation. He was said to be a dark-humoured man, but he was evidently to decide Thomas's fate, for the archers closed around him and walked the pair towards the village. She your woman?” one of them asked Thomas. She's the Countess of Armorica," Thomas said.

And I'm the bloody Earl of London,“ the archer retorted. Jeanette clung to Thomas's arm, terrified of the unfriendly faces. Thomas was equally unhappy. When things had been at their worst in Brittany, when the hellequin were grumbling and it was cold, wet and miserable, Skeat liked to say be happy you're not with Scoresby” and now, it seemed, Thomas was.

We hang deserters,“ the big man said with relish. Thomas noted that the archers, like all the troops he could see in the village, wore the red cross of Saint George on their tunics. A great crowd of them were gathered in a pasture that lay between the small village church and a Cistercian monastery or priory that had somehow escaped destruction, for the white-robed monks were assisting a priest who said Mass for the soldiers. Is it Sunday?” Thomas asked one of the archers.

Tuesday,“ the man said, taking off his hat in honour of the sacra-ments, Saint James's day.” They waited at the pasture's edge, close to the village church where a row of new graves suggested that some villagers had died when the army came, but most had probably fled south or west. One or two remained. An old man, bent double from work and with a white beard that almost reached the ground, mumbled along with the distant priest while a small boy, perhaps six or seven years old, tried to draw an English bow to the amusement of its owner.

The Mass ended and the mail-clad men climbed from their knees and walked towards the tents and houses. One of the archers from Thomas's escort had gone into the dispersing crowd and he now reappeared with a group of men. One stood out because he was taller than the others and had a new coat of mail that had been polished so it seemed to shine. He had long boots, a green cloak and a gold-hilted sword with a scabbard wrapped in red cloth. The finery seemed at odds with the man's face, which was pinched and gloomy. He was bald, but had a forked beard, which he had twisted into plaits. That's Scoresby," one of the archers muttered and Thomas had no need to guess which of the approaching soldiers he meant.

Scoresby stopped a few paces away and the big archer who had arrested Thomas smirked. A deserter,“ he announced proudly,” says he walked here from Brittany."

Scoresby gave Thomas a hard glance and Jeanette a much longer look. Her ragged dress revealed a length of thigh and a ripped neckline and Scoresby clearly wanted to see more. Like Will Skeat he had begun his military life as an archer and had risen by dint of shrewdness, and Thomas guessed there was not much mercy in his soul's mix.

Scoresby shrugged. If he's a deserter,“ he said, then hang the bastard.” He smiled. But we'll keep his woman.“ I'm not a deserter,” Thomas said, and the woman is the Countess of Armorica, who is related to the Count of Blois, nephew to the King of France."

Most of the archers jeered at this outrageous claim, but Scoresby was a cautious man and he was aware of a small crowd that had gathered at the churchyard's edge. Two priests and some men-at-arms wearing noblemen's escutcheons were among the spectators, and Thomas's confidence had put just enough doubt in Scoresby's mind. He frowned at Jeanette, seeing a girl who looked at first glance like a peasant, but despite her tanned face she was undoubtedly beautiful and the remnants of her dress suggested she had once known elegance.

She's who?" Scoresby demanded.

I told you who she was,“ Thomas said belligerently, and I will tell you more. Her son has been stolen from her, and her son is a ward of our king's. She has come for His Majesty's help.” Thomas hastily told Jeanette what he had said and, to his relief, she nodded her agreement.

Scoresby gazed at Jeanette and something about her increased his doubt. Why are you with her?“ he asked Thomas. I rescued her,” Thomas said.

He says,“ a voice spoke in French from the crowd and Thomas could not see the speaker, who was evidently surrounded by men-at-arms, all wearing a green and white livery. He says that he rescued you, madame, is that true?”

Yes,“ Jeanette said. She frowned, unable to see who was questioning her. Tell us who you are,” the unseen man demanded.

I am Jeanette, dowager Countess of Armorica."

Your husband was who?" The voice suggested a young man, but a very confident young man.

Jeanette bridled at the tone of the question, but answered it. Henri Chenier, Comte d'Armorique.

And why are you here, madame?"

Because Charles of Blois has kidnapped my child!“ Jeanette answered angrily. A child who was placed under the protection of the King of England.”

The young man said nothing for a while. Some in the crowd were edging nervously away from the liveried men-at-arms who surrounded him, and Scoresby was looking apprehensive. Who placed him under that protection?“ he eventually asked. William Bohun,” Jeanette said, Earl of Northampton.“ I believe her,” the voice said, and the men-at-arms stepped aside so that Thomas and Jeanette could see the speaker, who proved to be scarce more than a boy. Indeed, Thomas doubted he had even begun to shave, though he was surely full grown for he was tall, taller even than Thomas, and had only stayed hidden because his men-at-arms had been wearing green and white plumes in their helmets. The young man was fair-haired, had a face slightly burned by the sun, was dressed in a green cloak, plain breeches and a linen shirt, and nothing except his height explained why men were suddenly kneeling on the grass. Down,“ Scoresby hissed at Thomas who, perplexed, went on one knee. Now only Jeanette, the boy and his escort of eight tall men-at-arms were standing. The boy looked at Thomas. Did you really walk here from Brit-tany?” he asked in English, though, like many noblemen, his English was touched with a French accent.

We both did, sire," Thomas said in French.

Why?" he demanded harshly.

To seek the protection of the King of England,“ Thomas said, who is the guardian of my lady's son, who has been treacherously taken prisoner by England's enemies.”

The boy looked at Jeanette with much the same wolfish appreci-ation that Scoresby had shown. He might not shave, but he knew a beautiful woman when he saw one. He smiled. You are most welcome, madame,“ he said. I knew of your husband's reputation, I admired him, and I regret that I will never have a chance to meet him in combat.” He bowed to Jeanette, then untied his cloak and walked to her. He placed the green cape over her shoulders to cover the torn dress. I shall ensure, madame,“ he said, that you are treated with the courtesy your rank demands and will vow to keep whatever promises England made on your son's behalf.” He bowed again.

Jeanette, astonished and pleased by the young man's manner, put the question that Thomas had been wanting answered. Who are you, my lord?“ she asked, offering a curtsey. I am Edward of Woodstock, madame,” he said, offering her his arm.

It meant nothing to Jeanette, but it astonished Thomas. He is the King's eldest son," he whispered to her.

She dropped to one knee, but the smooth-cheeked boy raised her and walked her towards the priory. He was Edward of Wood-stock, Earl of Chester, Duke of Cornwall and Prince of Wales. And the wheel of fate had once again spun Jeanette high.

The wheel seemed indifferent towards Thomas. He was left alone, abandoned. Jeanette walked away on the Prince's arm and did not so much as glance back at Thomas. He heard her laugh. He watched her. He had nursed her, fed her, carried her and loved her, and now, without a thought, she had discarded him. No one else was interested in him. Scoresby and his men, cheated of a hanging, had gone to the village, and Thomas wondered just what he was supposed to do.

Goddamn,“ he said aloud. He felt conspicuously foolish in his tattered robe. Goddamn,” he said again. Anger, thick as the black humour that could make a man sick, rose in him, but what he could do? He was a fool in a ragged robe and the Prince was the son of a king.

The Prince had taken Jeanette to the low grassy ridge where the big tents stood in a colourful row. Each tent had a flagpole, and the tallest flew the quartered banner of the Prince of Wales, which showed the golden lions of England on the two red quarters and golden fleur-de-lis on the two blue. The fleur-de-lis were there to show the King's claim to the French throne while the whole flag, which was that of England's king, was crossed with a white-toothed bar to show that this was the banner of the King's eldest son. Thomas was tempted to follow Jeanette, to demand the Prince's help, but then one of the lower banners, the one furthest away from him, caught the small warm wind and sluggishly lifted its folds. He stared at it.

The banner had a blue field and was slashed diagonally with a white band. Three rampant yellow lions were emblazoned on either side of the bar, which was decorated with three red stars that had green centres. It was a flag Thomas knew well, but he scarcely dared believe that he was seeing it here in Normandy, for the arms were those of William Bohun, Earl of Northampton. Northampton was the King's deputy in Brittany, yet his flag was unmistakable and Thomas walked towards it, fearing that the wind-rippled flag would turn out to be a different coat of arms, similar to the Earl's, but not the same.

But it was the Earl's banner, and the Earl's tent, in contrast to the other stately pavilions on the low ridge, was still the grubby shelter made from two worn-out sails. A half-dozen men-at-arms wearing the Earl's livery barred Thomas's way as he neared the tent. Have you come to hear his lordship's confession or put an arrow in his belly?" one asked.

I would speak to his lordship,“ Thomas said, barely suppressing the anger provoked by Jeanette's abandonment of him. But will he talk to you?” the man asked, amused at the ragged archer's pretensions.

He will,“ Thomas said with a confidence he did not entirely feel. Tell him the man who gave him La Roche-Derrien is here,” he added.

The man-at-arms looked startled. He frowned, but just then the tent flap was thrown back and the Earl himself appeared, stripped to the waist to reveal a muscled chest covered in tight red curls. He was chewing on a goose-bone and peered up at the sky as though fearing rain. The man-at-arms turned to him, indicated Thomas, then shrugged as if to say he was not responsible for a madman showing up unannounced.

The Earl stared at Thomas. Good God,“ he said after a while, have you taken orders?”

No, my lord."

The Earl stripped a piece of flesh from the bone with his teeth. Thomas, ain't that right?"

Yes, my lord."

Never forget a face,“ the Earl said, and I have cause to remember yours, though I hardly expected you to fetch up here. Did you walk?”

Thomas nodded. I did, my lord." Something about the Earl's demeanour was puzzling, almost as though he was not really surprised to see Thomas in Normandy.

Will told me about you," the Earl said, told me all about you.

So Thomas, my modest hero from La Roche-Derrien, is a murderer, eh?" He spoke grimly.

Yes, my lord," Thomas said humbly.

The Earl threw away the stripped bone, then snapped his fingers and a servant tossed him a shirt from within the tent. He pulled it on and tucked it into his hose. God's teeth, boy, do you expect me to save you from Sir Simon's vengeance? You know he's here?" Thomas gaped at the Earl. Said nothing. Sir Simon Jekyll was here? And Thomas had just brought Jeanette to Normandy. Sir Simon could hardly hurt her so long as she was under the Prince's protection, but Sir Simon could harm Thomas well enough. And delight in it.

The Earl saw Thomas blanch and he nodded. He's with the King's men, because I didn't want him, but he insisted on travelling because he reckons there's more plunder to be had in Normandy than in Brittany and I dare say he's right, but what will truly put a smile on his face is the sight of you. Ever been hanged, Thomas?“ Hanged, my lord?” Thomas asked vaguely. He was still reeling from the news that Sir Simon had sailed to Normandy. He had just walked all this way to find his enemy waiting?

Sir Simon will hang you,“ the Earl said with indecent relish. He'll let you strangle on the rope and there'll be no kindly soul tugging on your ankles to make it quick. You could last an hour, two hours, in utter agony. You could choke for even longer! One fellow I hanged lasted from matins till prime and still managed to curse me. So I suppose you want my help, yes?”

Thomas belatedly went onto one knee. You offered me a reward after La Roche-Derrien, my lord. Can I claim it now?“ The servant brought a stool from the tent and the Earl sat, his legs set wide. Murder is murder,” he said, picking his teeth with a sliver of wood.

Half Will Skeat's men are murderers, my lord," Thomas pointed out.

The Earl thought about that, then reluctantly nodded. But they're pardoned murderers,“ he answered. He sighed. I wish Will was here,” he said, evading Thomas's demand. I wanted him to come, but he can't come until Charles of Blois is put back into his cage.“ He scowled at Thomas. If I give you a pardon,” the Earl went on, then I make an enemy out of Sir Simon. Not that he's a friend now, but still, why spare you?"

For La Roche-Derrien," Thomas said.

Which is a great debt,“ the Earl agreed, a very great debt. We'd have looked bloody fools if we hadn't taken that town, miserable goddamn place though it be. God's teeth, boy, but why didn't you just walk south? Plenty of bastards to kill in Gascony.” He looked at Thomas for a while, plainly irritated by the undeniable debt he owed the archer and the nuisance of paying it. He finally shrugged. I'll talk to Sir Simon, offer him money, and if it's enough he'll pretend you're not here. As for you,“ he paused, frowning as he remembered his earlier meetings with Thomas, you're the one who wouldn't tell me who your father was, ain't I right?” I didn't tell you, my lord, because he was a priest.“ The Earl thought that was a fine jest. God's teeth! A priest? So you're a devil's whelp, are you? That's what they say in Guyenne, that the children of priests are the devil's whelps.” He looked Thomas up and down, amused again at the ragged robe. They say the devil's whelps make good soldiers,“ he said, good soldiers and better whores. I suppose you've lost your horse?” Yes, my lord."

All my archers are mounted,“ the Earl said, then turned to one of his men-at-arms. Find the bastard a sway-backed nag till he can filch something better, then give him a tunic and offer him to John Armstrong.” He looked back to Thomas. You're joining my archers, which means you'll wear my badge. You're my man, devil's wheip, and perhaps that will protect you if Sir Simon wants too much money for your miserable soul."

I shall try to repay your lordship,“ Thomas said. Pay me, boy, by getting us into Caen. You got us into La Roche-Derrien, but that little place is nothing compared to Caen. Caen is a true bastard. We go there tomorrow, but I doubt we'll see the backside of its walls for a month or more, if ever. Get us into Caen, Thomas, and I'll forgive you a score of murders.” He stood, nodded a dismissal and went back into the tent.

Thomas did not move. Caen, he thought, Caen. Caen was the city where Sir Guillaume d'Evecque lived, and he made the sign of the cross for he knew fate had arranged all this. Fate had determined that his crossbow arrow would miss Sir Simon Jekyll and it had brought him to the edge of Caen. Because fate wanted him to do the penance that Father Hobbe had demanded. God, Thomas decided, had taken Jeanette from him because he had been slow to keep his promise.

But now the time for the keeping of promises had come, for God had brought Thomas to Caen.