The Grail Quest 3 - Heretic

Failure was hard, and Guy Vexille knew he had failed. He had sent riders into the woods to beat any fugitives out to the open ground and instead they had become tangled in a bloody, one-sided brawl with coredors that had left one of his men dead. The body was taken down to Astarac where, early next morning, Guy Vexille buried the man. It was raining. The rain had begun at midnight, a steady downpour that flooded the grave, which had been scraped between the olive trees. The bodies of the captured coredors, all of them beheaded the previous night, were lying abandoned at the edge of the olive grove, but Vexille was determined his own man should have a grave. The body had been stripped of everything except his shirt and now the man was rolled into the shallow hole where his head flopped back into the rainwater to expose the wound in his neck. Why wasn't he wearing his gorget?" Vexille asked one of the men who had attacked the coredors. A gorget was a piece of plate covering the throat and Vexille remembered that the dead man had been proud of the piece of armour that he had scavenged from some forgotten battlefield.

He was."

A lucky sword thrust then?“ Vexille asked. He was curious. All knowledge was useful, and few scraps of knowledge so useful as those that helped a man live in the chaos of battle. It wasn't a sword. the man said, he got an arrow.” Crossbow?"

Long arrow,“ the man said, went straight through the gorget. Must have hit plumb.” The man made the sign of the cross, praying that he would not suffer a similar fate. The archer got away,“ he went on. Ran into the woods.”

And that was when Vexille realized Thomas must have been among the coredors. It was possible that one of the bandits had been using a hunting bow, but not likely. He demanded to know where the arrow was, but it had been thrown away, no one knew where, so in the morning mist Vexille led his men up to the ridge and then south to the clearing where the bodies still lay. Rain pelted down, dripping from the horses“ trappers and finding its way beneath men's armour so that the metal and leather chafed chilled skins. Vexille's men grumbled, but Vexille himself seemed oblivious of the weather. Once at the clearing he looked at the scatter of corpses, then saw what he was looking for. A squat, bearded man had an arrow in his eye and Vexille dismounted to look at the shaft, which proved to be a long ash arrow fledged with goose feathers. Vexille pulled it free, tugging it from the dead man's brains. It had a long, needle like head, and that suggested it was English, then he looked at the fledging. Did you know,” he said to his men, that the English only use feathers from one wing of a goose?“ He stroked the damp feathers, which were held in place by twine and by glue that had a greenish tinge. Either the right wing,” he said, or the left, doesn't matter, but you don't mix feathers from both wings on one arrow." He suddenly snapped the arrow in a surge of frustration. Goddamn it! It was an English arrow and that meant Thomas had been here, so damned close, and now was gone. But where?

One of his men proposed riding westwards to rake the valley of the Gers, but Vexille snarled at the suggestion. He's no fool. He'll be miles away by now. Miles.“ Or perhaps he was just yards away, watching from among the trees or from the rocky heights of the crag, and Vexille stared into the woods and tried to put himself into Thomas's place. Would he run back to England? But why would he ever have come here in the first place? Thomas had been excommunicated, thrown out from his companions, sent into the wilderness, but instead of fleeing home to England he had come east to Astarac. But there was nothing in Astarac now. It had been harrowed, so where would Thomas go? Guy Vexille looked into the caves, but they were empty. Thomas was gone. Vexille returned to the monastery. It was time to leave and he went there to gather the rest of his men. Charles Bessieres had also assembled his few soldiers who were mounted on horses heavy with plunder. And where are you going?” Vexille asked him. Wherever you go, my lord,“ Bessieres said with sarcastic courtesy, to help you find the Englishman. So where do we look?” He asked the question caustically, knowing that Guy Vexille had no ready answer.

Vexille said nothing. The rain still fell steadily, turning the roads into quagmires. On the northern road, that led eventually to Youlouse, a group of travellers had appeared. They were all on foot, thirty or forty of them, and it was apparent that they were coming to seek shelter and help from the monastery. They looked like fugitives for they were pushing four handcarts loaded with chests and bundles. Three old people, too weak to struggle through the cloying mud, were riding on the carts. Some of Bessieres's men, hoping for more easy plunder, were spurring towards them and Guy Vexille headed them off. The folk, seeing Vexille's lacquered armour and the prancing yale on his shield, knelt in the mud. Where are you going?" Vexille demanded.

To the monastery, lord," one of the men said, hauling off his hat and bowing his head.

And where are you from?"

The man said they were from the valley of the Garonne, two days" journey to the east, and further questioning elicited that they were four craftsmen and their families: a carpenter, a saddler, a wheelwright and a mason, all from the same town.

Is there trouble there?“ Vexille wanted to know. He doubted it would concern him, for Thomas would surely not have travelled eastwards, but anything strange was of interest to him. There is a plague, lord,” the man said. People are dying." There's always plague. Vexille said dismissively.

Not like this, lord. the man said humbly. He claimed that hundreds, maybe thousands, were dying and these families, at the very first onslaught of the contagion, had decided to flee. Others were doing the same, the man said, but most had gone north to Youlouse while these four families, all friends, had decided to look to the southern hills for their safety.

You should have stayed. Vexille said, and taken refuge in a church."

The church is filled with the dead, lord. the man said, and Vexille turned away in impatience. Some disease in the Garonne was not his business, and if common folk panicked, that was nothing unusual. He snarled at Charles Bessieres's men to leave the fugitives alone, and Bessieres snapped back, saying that they were wasting their time. Your Englishman's gone. he sneered. Vexille heard the sneer, but ignored it. Instead, he paused a moment, then gave Charles Bessieres the courtesy of taking him seriously. You're right. he said, but gone where?“ Bessieres was taken aback by the mild tone. He leaned on his saddle pommel and stared at the monastery as he thought about the question. He was here. he said eventually, he went, so presumably he found what he wanted?”

Vexille shook his head. He ran from us, that's why he went.“ So why didn't we see him?” Bessieres asked belligerently. The rain dripped from the broad metal brim of his sallet, a piece of armour he had adopted to keep his head dry. But he's gone, and taken whatever he found with him. And where would you go if you were him?"

Home.

Long way. Bessieres said. And his woman's wounded. If I was him I'd find friends and find them fast."

Vexille stared at the grim Charles Bessieres and wondered why he was being so unusually helpful. Friends,“ Vexille repeated. Castillon d'Arbizon,” Charles Bessieres spelled it out. They threw him out!" Vexille protested.

That was then,“ Bessieres said, but what choices does he have now?” In truth Charles Bessieres had no idea whether Thomas would go to Castillon d'Arbizon, but it was the most obvious solution, and Charles had decided he needed to find the Englishman fast. Only then, when he was certain that no true Grail had been discovered, could he reveal the fake chalice. But if he hasn't gone to his friends,“ he added, he's certainly going west towards the other English garrisons.”

Then we'll cut him off," Vexille said. He was not convinced that Thomas would go to Castillon d'Arbizon, but his cousin would surely go west, and now Vexille had a new worry, one put there by Bessieres, that Thomas had found what he sought. The Grail could be lost and the scent was cold, but the hunt must go on.

They all rode west.

In the dark the rain came like vengeance from heaven. A down pour that thrashed on the trees and dripped to the floor of the wood and soaked the fugitives and lowered their already low spirits. In one brief passage of unexpected violence the coredors had been broken apart, their leader killed and their winter encampment ruined. Now, in the utter blackness of the autumn night, they were lost, unprotected and frightened.

Thomas and Genevieve were among them. Genevieve spent much of the night doubled over, trying to contain the pain of her left shoulder that had been exacerbated when the coredors tried and failed to strip her of the mail shirt, but when the first thin, damp light showed a path through the trees she stood and followed Thomas as he went westwards. At least a score of the coredors followed, including Philin, who was still carrying his son on his shoulders. Where are you going?“ Philin asked Thomas. Castillon d'Arbizon. Thomas said. And where are you going?” Philin ignored the question, walking in silence for a few paces, then he frowned. I'm sorry," he said.

What for?"

I was going to cut your fingers off."

Didn't have much choice, did you?"

I could have fought Destral."

Thomas shook his head. You can't fight men like that. They love fighting, feed on it. He'd have slaughtered you and I'd still have lost my fingers."

I'm sorry, though."

They had worked their way across the highest part of the ridge and now could see the grey rain slashing all across the valley ahead, and across the next ridge and further valley. Thomas wanted to look at the landscape ahead before they descended the slope and so he ordered them all to rest, and Philin put his son down. Thomas turned to the tall man. What did your boy say to you when he offered you the knife?"

Philin frowned as if he did not want to answer, then shrugged. He told me to cut off your fingers."

Thomas hit Galdric hard across the head, making the boy's head ring and prompting a cry of pain. Thomas slapped him a second time, hard enough to hurt his own hand. Tell him,“ Thomas said, to pick fights with people his own size.”

Galdric began crying, Philin said nothing and Thomas looked back to the valley ahead. He could see no horsemen there, no riders on the roads or mailed soldiers patrolling the wet pastures, and so he led the group on downwards. I heard,“ Philin spoke nervously, his son back on his shoulders, that the Count of Berat's men are besieging Castillon d'Arbizon?”

I heard the same," Thomas said curtly.

You think it's safe to go there?"

Probably not,“ Thomas said, but there's food in the castle, and warmth and friends.”

You could walk farther west?“ Philin suggested. I came here for something,” Thomas said, and I haven't got it.“ He had come for his cousin, and Guy Vexille was close; Thomas knew he could not double back on Astarac and face him because Vexille's mounted men-at-arms held all the advantages in open country, but there was a small chance in Castillon d'Arbizon. A chance, at least, if Sir Guillaume was in command and Thomas's friends were the men making up the shrunken garrison. And at least he would be back among archers, and so long as he had them by his side he believed he could offer his cousin a fight to remember. The rain poured on as they crossed the valley of the Gers, and became even harder as they climbed the next ridge through thick chestnuts. Some of the coredors fell behind, but most kept up with Thomas's quick pace. Why are they following me?” Thomas asked Philin. Why are you following me?"

We need food and warmth too,“ Philin said. Like a dog that had lost its master he had attached himself to Thomas and Genevieve, and the other coredors were following him, and so Thomas stopped on the ridge's top and stared at them. They were a band of thin, ragged, hungry and beaten men, with a handful of bedraggled women and miserable children. You can come with me,” he said, and waited for Philin to translate, but if we get to Castillon d'Arbizon you become soldiers. Proper soldiers! You'll have to fight. Fight proper. Not skulk in the woods and run away when it gets hard. If we get into the castle you'll have to help defend it, and if you can't face that, then go away now.“ He watched them as Philin interpreted. most looked sheepish, but none turned away. They were either brave, Thomas thought, or so hopeless that they could think of no alternative but to follow him. He walked on towards the next valley. Genevieve, her hair plastered to her skull, kept pace with him. How will we get into the castle?” she asked.

Same way I did before. Across the weir and up to the wall.“ They won't guard that?”

Thomas shook his head. Too close to the ramparts. If they put men on that slope they'll be picked off by archers. One by bloody one." Which did not mean that the besiegers might not have occupied the mill, but he would face that problem once he reached

Castillon d'Arbizon.

And when we're inside?“ she asked. What then?” I don't know," Thomas said honestly.

She touched his hand as if to indicate that she was not criticizing, but merely curious. It seems to me," she said, that you are like a hunted wolf, and you're going back to your lair. True. Thomas said.

And the huntsmen will know you are there. They will trap you." Also true. Thomas said.

Then why?" she asked.

He did not answer for a while, then he shrugged and tried to tell her the truth. Because I've been beaten. he said, because they killed Planchard, because I've got nothing to bloody lose, because if I'm on those ramparts with a bow then I can kill some of them. And I bloody will. I'll kill Joscelyn; I'll kill my cousin.“ He slapped the yew shaft, which was unstrung to preserve the cord from the rain. I'll kill them both. I'm an archer, and a bloody good one, and I'd rather be that than a fugitive.” And Robbie? You'll kill him?"

Maybe. Thomas said, unwilling to consider the question. So the wolf. she said, will kill the hounds? Then die?“ Probably. Thomas said. But I'll be with friends.” That was important. Men he had brought to Gascony were under siege and, if they would take him back, he would stay with them to the end. And you don't have to come. he added to Genevieve. You goddamn fool. she said, her anger matching his. When I was going to die, you came. You think I will leave you now? Besides, remember what I saw under the thunder.“ Darkness and a point of light. Thomas smiled in grim amusement. You think we'll win?” he asked. Maybe. I do know I'm on God's side now, whatever the Church thinks. My enemies killed Planchard and that means they're doing the devil's work.“ They were going downhill, coming towards the end of the trees and the first of the vineyards and Thomas paused to search the landscape ahead. The coredors straggled in behind him, dropping exhausted on the wet forest floor. Seven carried crossbows, the rest had a variety of weapons, or none at all. One woman, red haired and snub-nosed, carried a falchion, a broad-bladed, curved sword, and she looked as if she knew how to use it. Why are we stopping?” Philin asked, though he was grateful for the respite because his son was a heavy burden. To look for the hunters. Thomas said, and he stared a long time at the vineyards, meadows and small woods. A stream glinted between two pastures. There was no one in sight. There were no serfs digging ditches or herding pigs towards the chestnuts and that was worrying. Why would serfs stay home? Only because there were armed men around and Thomas looked for them. There. Genevieve said, pointing, and to the north, by a bend in the glistening stream, Thomas saw a horseman in the shadow of a willow.

So the hunters were waiting for him and once he was out of the trees they would surround him, chop down his companions and take him to his cousin.

It was time to hide again.

Joscelyn loved the gun. It was a thing of ugly beauty; a solid, bulbous, thunderous lump of clumsy killing machine. He wanted more of them. With a dozen such devices, he thought, he could be the greatest lord of Gascony.

It had taken five days to drag the gun to Castillon d'Arbizon where Joscelyn had discovered that the siege, if it could even be called that, was going nowhere. Sir Henri claimed he had contained the garrison by penning them into the castle, but he had made no effort to attack. He had built no scaling ladders, nor positioned his crossbowmen close enough to pick the English archers off the ramparts. Been dozing, have you?“ Joscelyn snarled. No, lord.”

Paid you off, did they?“ Joscelyn demanded. Bribed you perhaps?” Sir Henri bridled at such an affront to his honour, but Joscelyn ignored him. Instead he ordered the crossbowmen to advance halfway up the main street and find windows or walls from where they could shoot at the men on the castle ramparts, and five of the crossbowmen were dead and another six were wounded by the long English arrows before the day ended, but Joscelyn was content. Got them worried. he claimed, and tomorrow we'll begin slaughtering them."

Signor Gioberti, the Italian master gunner, decided to place his cannon just inside the town's west gate. There was a convenient stretch of level cobbles there, and on them he put the two vast baulks of timber that supported the wooden frame that cradled the jar-shaped weapon. The spot was a good twenty yards outside the range of the English archers, so his men were safe and, better still, the gate's archway, ten paces behind the gun, provided shelter from the intermittent showers so his men could mix the gunpowder safely.

It took all morning to emplace the gun and its frame, which had to be lifted from the wagon by a crane that Gioberti's men constructed from stout pieces of oak. The runners beneath the frame had been greased with pig lard, and Gioberti placed a tub of the white fat beside the gun so that the runners could be kept lubricated as the frame recoiled whenever the gun was fired. The cannon's missiles were carried on a separate wagon and each needed two men to lift it from their bed. The missiles were iron bolts, four feet long; some were shaped like arrows with stubby metal vanes while the rest were simple bars, each as thick across as a man's upper arm. The powder came in barrels, but it needed stirring because the heavy saltpetre, which made up about two thirds of the mix, had sunk to the bottom of the tubs while the lighter sulphur and charcoal had risen to the top. The stirring was done with a long wooden spoon, and when Signor Gioberti was satisfied, he ordered eight cupfuls to be placed in the dark recess of the gun.

That breech, where the explosion would take place, was contained by the great jar-like bulge of the cannon's rear. That bulbous piece of iron was painted on one side with an image of Saint Eloi, the patron saint of metal, and on the other with Saint Maurice, the patron of soldiers, while below the saints was the gun's name, Hell Spitter. She's three years old, lord,“ Gioberti told Joscelyn, and as well behaved as a properly beaten woman.” Well behaved?"

I've seen them split, lord.“ Gioberti indicated the bulbous breech and explained that some guns tore themselves apart when they were fired, shattering scraps of hot metal to decimate the crew. But Hell Spitter? She's as sound as a bell. And that's who made her, lord, bell-founders in Milan. They're hard to cast right, very hard.” You can do it?" Joscelyn enquired, imagining a cannon foundry in Berat.

Not me, lord. But you can hire good men. Or find bell-founders. They know how to do it, and there's a way of making sure they do a proper job."

What's that?" Joscelyn asked eagerly.

You make the gun's makers stand by the breech when the first shot is fired, my lord. That concentrates them on their work!“ Gioberti chuckled. I had Hell Spitter's founders standing by her and they didn't flinch. Proves she's well made, my lord, well made.” A fuse, made from linen soaked with a mix of oil and gunpowder and protected by a sewn linen sheath, was placed with one end in the powder and the other trailing through the gun's narrow neck where the missile would be placed. Some gunners, Gioberti said, preferred a hole drilled through the big breech, but he was of the opinion that such a hole dissipated part of the gun's force and he preferred to light the fuse from the gun's mouth. The white linen tube was held in place by a handful of wet loam slapped into the narrow neck, and only when that loam had set slightly did Gioberti allow two of his men to bring one of the arrow-shaped bolts, which was lifted up to the flaring mouth and carefully pushed back so that its long black length rested in the cannon's narrow neck. Now more loam was brought, newly mixed from river water and from sand and clay that were carried in the third wagon, and the loam was packed all around the missile to make a tight seal. It holds in the explosion, lord. Gioberti said, and explained that without the loam to seal the barrel much of the powder's explosive force would waste itself as it vented past the missile. Without the loam. he said, it just spits the bolt out. No force at all.“ You will let me fire the fuse?” Joscelyn asked, as eager as a small child with a new toy.

So you should, my lord. Gioberti said, but not yet. The loam must set hard.

That took almost three hours, but then, as the sun sank behind the town and lit the eastern face of the castle, Gioberti declared everything was ready. The barrels of powder were safely stored in a nearby house where no trace of fire could reach them, the gunners had taken shelter in case the breech burst, and the thatch in front of the gun on either side of the street had been wetted down by men with buckets. The cannon had been wedged upwards so that it was pointing at the top of the castle's entrance arch, but the bolt, the Italian said, should fall slightly as it flew and thus strike the very centre of the gate. He ordered one of his men to bring a lighted brand from the hearth of the Bear and Butcher tavern and when he had been given the fire and he was sure all had been done that should be done, he bowed to Joscelyn and held out the burning wood. A priest said a prayer of blessing, then scuttled into the alley beside the tavern. Just touch the fire to the fuse, my lord,“ Gioberti said, then you and I can go to the gate rampart and watch.”

Joscelyn looked at the thick black arrow head protruding from the barrel to fill the gun's flared mouth, then at the fuse beneath, and he touched the fire to the linen sleeve and the powder inside began to fizz. Back, lord, if you please,“ Gioberti said. A little trail of smoke was coming from the linen sleeve, which shrivelled and turned black as it shrank towards the throat. Joscelyn wanted to watch the fire vanish into the gun's neck, but Signor Gioberti dared to pull his lordship's sleeve in his urgency and Joscelyn meekly followed the Italian up to the gate rampart from where he stared at the castle. Up on the keep the Earl of Northampton's flag stirred in the small wind, but not for much longer, Joscelyn thought. Then the world shook. The noise was such that Joscelyn thought he stood in the heart of thunder, a thunder that gave a palpable blow to his eardrums so sudden and strong he involuntarily jumped, and then the whole street ahead of him, all the space between the walls and the dampened thatch, filled with smoke in which bright shards of charcoal and shattered scraps of loam, all trailing fire like comets, arched and fell. The town's gateway shuddered, and the noise of the explosion echoed back from the castle to drown the screech of Hell Spitter's ponderous frame recoiling on its greased runners. Dogs began howling in the shuttered houses and a thousand startled birds took to the sky. Sweet God!” Joscelyn said, amazed, his ears ringing from the thunder that still rolled about the valley. Dear Christ!“ The grey-white smoke drifted away from the street and with it came a stench so hideous, so rotten, that Joscelyn almost gagged. Then, through the foul-smelling smoke's remnants, he could see that one leaf of the castle's gates was hanging askew. Do it again. he ordered, his voice sounding muffled to himself because his ears were full of echoes. Tomorrow, lord. Gioberti said. It takes time to set the loam. We'll load tonight and shoot at daybreak.”

Next morning the gun fired three shots, all of them solid bars of rusted iron that succeeded in tearing the castle's gates off their hinges. It began to rain and the drops hissed and steamed when they hit Hell Spitter's metal. The townsfolk cowered in their houses, flinching every time the massive noise of the gun shook their window shutters and made their kitchen pots rattle. The castle's defenders had vanished from the battlements and that emboldened the crossbowmen who moved even closer.

The gate was gone, though Joscelyn could still not see into the castle's courtyard for that lay higher than the gun, but he assumed the garrison would know that an assault must come through the gate and doubtless they were preparing defences. The trick of it. he declared at midday, is not to give them time.

They've had time. Sir Henri Courtois pointed out. They've had all morning.

Joscelyn ignored Sir Henri who he thought was nothing but a timid old man who had lost his appetite for battle. We attack this evening. Joscelyn decreed. signor Gioberti will fire an iron into the courtyard and we shall follow while the noise still cows them.“ He picked forty men-at-arms, the best he had, and he ordered them to be ready at sunset and, to ensure that the defenders had no warning of his attack, he had men hack holes in the house walls so that the attackers could approach the castle through the town's buildings. By going through the walls, sneaking from house to house, the attackers could get within thirty paces of the gate without being seen and, as soon as the gun fired, they were to erupt from their hiding place and charge the castle's archway. Sir Henri Courtois offered to lead the attack, but Joscelyn refused. It needs young men. he said, men without fear.” He glanced at Robbie. Will you come?"

Of course, my lord."

We'll send a dozen crossbowmen first. Joscelyn decreed. They can shoot a volley into the courtyard and then get out of our way. They would also, he hoped, draw the arrows of any English archers who might be waiting.

Sir Henri drew a diagram on a kitchen table with a scrap of charcoal to show Joscelyn what lay inside the courtyard. The stables, he said, were to the right and should be avoided for they led nowhere. Facing you, lord,“ he said, are two doorways. The one on the left leads down to the dungeons and, once down there, there is no other way out. The one on the right is at the top of a dozen steps and that leads to the halls and battlements.” So that's the one we want?"

Indeed, lord." Sir Henri hesitated. He wanted to warn Joscelyn that Sir Guillaume was an experienced soldier, that he would be ready. The siege proper had only just begun, the gun had been working for less than a day, and that was when a garrison was at its most alert. Sir Guillaume would be waiting, but Sir Henri knew that any caution would only incur Joscelyn's dismissive scorn and so he said nothing.

Joscelyn ordered his squire to prepare his armour, then gave Sir Henri a careless glance. When the castle is taken,“ he said, you will be castellan again.”

Whatever your lordship orders," Sir Henri said, taking the insult of his demotion calmly.

The attackers gathered in Saint Gallic's church where a Mass was said and a blessing given to the men in their mail coats, and afterwards they filed through the crude doorways hacked in the house walls, climbing the hill, going secretly to a wheelwright's shop that opened onto the square in front of the castle. They crouched there, weapons ready. Men pulled on helmets, said their silent prayers and waited. Most had shields, but some preferred to go without, claiming they could move faster. Two had huge axes, weapons to strike terror in a small space. They touched their talismans, said more prayers and waited impatiently for the roar of the huge gun. None peered around the doorway for Joscelyn was watching them and he had given strict orders that they were to stay hidden until the gun fired. There is still a reward for every archer taken alive,“ he reminded them, but I'll give it for dead archers too.” Keep your shields up," Robbie put in, thinking of the long English arrows.

They'll be dazed. Joscelyn said, and cowering from the noise. We just go in and kill them."

Pray God that was true, Robbie thought, and he felt a twinge of guilt that he was fighting against Sir Guillaume, whom he liked, but he had sworn his new allegiance and he was convinced he was fighting for God, for Scotland and for the true faith. Five gold coins apiece,“ Joscelyn said, for the first five men up the steps and into the keep.” Why the hell did the gun not fire? He was sweating. It was a cool day, but he was hot because the greased leather coat under his plate armour was thick. That armour was the best that any of the attackers owned, but it was also the heaviest and Joscelyn knew it would be a struggle to keep up with the men in the lighter mail. No matter. He would join the fight where it was thickest and he relished the thought of cutting down screaming, desperate archers. And no prisoners," he said, wanting his day to be crowned by death.

Sir Guillaume?“ Robbie suggested. Can we take him captive?” Does he have estates?" Joscelyn asked.

No," Robbie admitted.

Then what ransom can he promise?"

None."

So no prisoners!“ Joscelyn called to his attackers. Kill them all!” But not their women," a man suggested.

Not their women. Joscelyn agreed, and regretted that the golden-haired beghard was not in the castle. Well, there would be other women. There were always other women.

The shadows lengthened. It had rained all morning, but the sky had cleared since and the sun was low, very low, and Joscelyn knew that Signor Gioberti was waiting until the last bright rays shone clean through the gate to dazzle the defenders. Then would come the noise, the evil-smelling smoke, the terrible crash of the iron striking the courtyard wall and, while the defenders were still stunned by the tumult, the armoured men would erupt in pitiless fury through the gate. God is with us. Joscelyn said, not because he believed it, but because he knew such a sentiment was expected of him. Tonight we feast on their food and women." He was talking too much because he was nervous, but he did not realize it. This was not like a tournament where the loser could walk away, however bruised and cut. This was death's playground and, though he was supremely confident, he was also apprehensive. Let the defenders be sleeping, or eating, he thought, but let them not be ready.

And just then the world was filled with thunder, flame-seared iron screamed through the gate, smoke boiled up the street and the waiting, thank Christ, was over.

They charged.

Sir Guillaume, the moment the gun first appeared in Castillon d'Arbizon, had readied the garrison for an attack. He gave orders that ten archers were to be in the courtyard at all times, five on each side of the yard so their arrows would slant in at the open space where the cannon's bolts had demolished the main gate. The castle's curtain wall, which was undamaged, sheltered them from any crossbowmen in the town. Then, during the morning that the gun demolished the gate, Sir Guillaume tore down most of the stable walls, but left the posts supporting the roof in place so that the archers had a place to shelter their bow-strings when it rained. The horses were taken up the steps into the lower hall, which became their new stables.

The timber from the stable wall, the byres and the shattered main gates were used to make a barricade across the courtyard. It was not as high as Sir Guillaume would have liked, and there was not enough timber to make it heavy enough to withstand a determined assault, but any kind of obstacle would slow down a man

in armour and give the archers time to place another arrow on their cords. The first iron bolts shot from the gun were added to the barricade, and then a barrel of rancid olive oil was fetched up from the undercroft. With that, Sir Guillaume was ready. He suspected Joscelyn would attack sooner rather than later. Sir Guillaume had spent enough time in the new Count of Berat's company to understand that Joscelyn was an impatient man, too eager for victory, and Sir Guillaume also reckoned the attack would either come at dusk or dawn and so, as the first full day of the gun's firing tore down the gates and cracked the bastion at one side of the archway, he made sure the whole garrison was armoured and ready well before dusk.

In mid-afternoon he had been certain the attack would come very soon for, in the long space between the gun's shots, he had crouched on the undamaged part of the gate rampart and heard the strange sounds of hammers and splintering, and he guessed the enemy was breaking a path through the house walls so they could approach the open space in front of the castle unseen. And when evening came and the gun did not fire, Sir Guillaume knew it must be waiting until the attackers were ready. He crouched by the gate and heard the chink of armour from the houses across the square, and when he peered round the arch he saw that more men than usual had gathered on the ramparts above the west gate to watch the castle. They might as well have sounded a trumpet, he thought scornfully, to announce their intentions. He ducked out of sight just a heartbeat before a crossbow quarrel slammed into the arch where he had been lurking.

He went back to his men-at-arms. They're coming," he told them and he pushed his left forearm into the leather loops of his shield that showed the faded badge of the three hawks. There was a relief in that knowledge. Sir Guillaume hated being besieged, and he had hated the calm menace of the first days when Sir Henri had kept to their agreement for, even though that was a safe period, there was still the frustration of being mewed up in a castle. Now he could kill some of the besiegers, and to a soldier like Sir Guillaume that was far more satisfying. When the gun had first come to the town Sir Guillaume had wondered whether Joscelyn would offer him terms, but then, when the gun first fired to wrench the heavy gates askew, he understood that Joscelyn, hot-blooded, incautious and ungenerous, wanted nothing but death.

So now he would give it to him.

When the gun fires,“ Sir Guillaume instructed his men, that's when they'll come,” and he squatted beside the gate, on the enemy's side of the barricade, and hoped he was right. He waited, watching the sunlight creep across the flagstones of the courtyard. He had eighteen fit archers and all of them were behind the barri cade, while sixteen men-at-arms waited with Sir Guillaume. The rest had deserted, all but half a dozen men who were ill. The town was quiet except for a barking dog that suddenly yelped as it was struck to silence. Beat them off here, Sir Guillaume thought, and then what? He had no doubt he would beat them off, but he was still hugely outnumbered and his garrison was far from any help. Perhaps, if the besiegers were well beaten here, then Joscelyn would talk terms. Sir Henri Courtois would certainly take an honourable surrender, Sir Guillaume thought, but did Sir Henri have influence over the hot-headed Joscelyn?

Then the gun fired, the noise of it seeming to shake the castle, and an iron bar hammered through the gateway to drive a great chunk of stone and white dust from the tower wall next to the steps leading into the keep. Sir Guillaume tensed, his ears ringing with the echo of the terrible sound, and then he heard the cheers and the sound of heavy boots on the cobbles of the square outside and he prised the loosened lid from the barrel of oil and then kicked the tub over so that the greenish liquid spilt across the flag stones by the gateway. Just then he heard a voice bellowing outside. No prisoners!“ the man's voice was distorted by a helmet with a closed visor. No prisoners!”

Archers!“ Sir Guillaume called, though he doubted they needed to be alerted. In Thomas's absence the bowmen were led by Jake who did not much like the responsibility, but he liked Sir Guillaume and wanted to fight well for him. Jake said nothing to his archers; they did not need any orders. Instead they waited with bows half drawn, bodkin arrows on their strings, and then the gateway was filled with a group of crossbowmen, and behind them were the men-at-arms, already shouting their battle cries, and Jake, as ordered, waited a heartbeat until the first men slipped on the olive oil and only then did he shout, Loose!”

Eighteen arrows tore into the chaos. The first attackers through the gate were sprawling on the stones, the men behind tripped over them and then the arrows ripped into the confusion. The assault was still ten paces from the barricade, yet already it was checked because the castle's narrow gateway was blocked by the dying and the dead. Sir Guillaume stood to one side, sword drawn, doing nothing as yet, just letting the archers finish their work. He was astonished at how fast they had another arrow on the string, then watched as the second and third flights pierced mail and skewered flesh. A crossbowman crawled out from the tangle and bravely tried to raise his weapon, but Sir Guillaume took two steps and brought his sword hard down on the nape of the man's unprotected neck. The other crossbowmen, evidently sent in the front

rank to deliver a volley at his archers, were dead or dying. Joscelyn's men-at-arms were mingled with them, arrows jutting from mail and shields, and in the gateway the crush of men could make no headway. Jake now directed his arrows at them, volley after volley, and then Sir Guillaume waved his men-at-arms forward. They want no prisoners,“ he shouted to them, you hear me? No prisoners!”

Sir Guillaume and his men were attacking from the left side of the courtyard, so Jake took his archers to the right and shot only through the gateway at the few figures left under the arch. And after a few seconds all the arrows stopped, for so many of the attackers were dead, and those that lived were trapped by Sir Guillaume's sudden assault from the corner of the yard. It was a massacre. The attackers, already half beaten by the arrows, had assumed any defenders would be behind the barricade, and instead the men-at-arms came from their flank, and Sir Guillaume's men, informed that the enemy had wanted all their deaths, were in no mood to offer mercy. Bastard.“ John Faircloth stabbed at a fallen man-at-arms, working his sword through a rent in the man's mail. Bastard,” he said again, cutting the throat of a crossbowman. A Burgundian was using an axe, crushing helmets and skulls with one efficient blow after another, spattering the oil slicked stone with brains and blood. One enemy rose snarling from the pile, a big man, strong and useful, who stepped on bodies to carry the fight to the garrison, but Sir Guillaume took the man's sword blow on his shield and plunged his own sword into the man's throat. The man stared at Sir Guillaume, his eyes wide, his lips trying to frame an obscenity, but there was nothing in his mouth except a lump of blood, thick as lard; then he wavered and fell, and Sir Guillaume was already past him to kill another man-at arms. And now the archers, discarding their bows, had come to join the slaughter, using axes, swords or knives to despatch the wounded. Shouts for mercy echoed in the courtyard, screams sounded, and the few unwounded attackers at the rear of the assault heard them, heard the triumphant English shouts. Saint George! Saint George!" They fled. One man, dazed by a sword blow to his helmet, fled the wrong way and John Faircloth met him with a sword thrust that ripped through the iron rings of his mail to rip his belly open. Bastard. Faircloth said, dragging his blade free.

Clear the gate!“ Sir Guillaume said. Pull them clear!” He did not want his men to be shot by the crossbowmen outside the castle while they plundered the corpses of their armour and weapons, and so they dragged the bodies to the side of the yard. There were no wounded enemy that Sir Guillaume could see. It was the enemy that had shouted the call for no prisoners and the garrison had obeyed them. And now the attack was over.

Yet the danger was not past. There were still two bodies in the archway. Sir Guillaume knew the crossbowmen lower in the town could see into the gateway, so, using his shield to protect his body, he stooped and sidled into the arch and dragged the first body back towards the yard. There was no sign of Joscelyn and that was a pity. Sir Guillaume had dreamed of taking the Count prisoner for a second time, and then he would have doubled Joscelyn's ransom, doubled it again and then doubled it a third time. Bastard, Sir Guillaume thought, and a crossbow bolt slammed high into his shield, banging the top edge against Sir Guillaume's helmet. He crouched lower, grabbed the last man's ankle and pulled, and the man stirred and tried to fight back so Sir Guillaume hammered the shield's pointed lower edge into the man's groin and the man gasped, then stopped struggling.

It was Robbie. Once Sir Guillaume had him in the courtyard and was safe from the crossbowmen in the town, he could see that Robbie had not been wounded. Instead he had been stunned, probably by an arrow that had struck the lower edge of his helmet and left a fierce dent in the thick rim, which had thumped onto Robbie's skull and hurled him back. One inch lower and there would have been a dead Scotsman. As it was there was a very confused Scotsman who twitched in search of his sword as he real ized where he was.

Where's my money," Sir Guillaume growled, threatening Robbie with the Scotsman's own sword.

Oh, Jesus. Robbie groaned.

He's no damned use to you. If you want mercy, son, ask me. Ask them!“ Sir Guillaume pointed at the archers and men-at-arms who were stripping the dead and injured of their weapons, armour and clothes. Cross-eyed Jake was grinning because one of the enemy dead had been wearing a ruby ring. Jake had sawn off the finger and now held the jewel aloft in triumph. Sam, the proud new owner of a fine coat of German-made mail, came to look at Robbie. He spat to show his opinion of the Scotsman. Robbie, tears in his eyes because of his humiliation, looked at the dead men, their undershirts laced with blood. Forty attackers had crossed the square outside the castle and over half of them were dead. He looked up at Sir Guillaume. I'm your prisoner,” he said, and he wondered how he was supposed to pay one ransom to Lord Outhwaite in England and another to Sir Guillaume. You're bloody not my prisoner. Sir Guillaume said in crude English, then he changed back to French. I heard the shout outside. No prisoners. And you might remember that when we do take prisoners, we don't get ransoms. We just get pieces of parchment. Is that what honour means in Scotland?"

Robbie looked up into the savage, one-eyed face and shrugged. Just kill me. he said wearily. Kill me and go to hell. Your friend wouldn't like that. Sir Guillaume said and saw the puzzlement on Robbie's face. Your friend Thomas. he explained. He likes you. He wouldn't want you dead. Got a soft spot for you, he has, because he's a goddamned fool. So I'll let you live. Get on your feet.“ Sir Guillaume prodded Robbie up. Now go to Joscelyn and tell that spavined bastard that he can pay us what you owe us and then we'll leave. Got that? He pays the money, then you watch us ride away.”

Robbie wanted to ask for the sword that belonged to his uncle and concealed a precious relic of Saint Andrew in its hilt, but he knew he would be refused and so, still dazed, he went back to the arch, followed by the jeers of the archers. Sir Guillaume bellowed at the crossbowmen in the town that the man coming out was one of their own. Perhaps they'll shoot you anyway. he said to Robbie, then shoved him out into the dusk.

None of the crossbowmen shot at Robbie who, with an aching head and a throbbing groin, stumbled down the street. The survivors of the attack were gathered by the still smoking gun; some of them had arrows in their arms or legs. Joscelyn was there, bare-headed; his hair had been flattened by the helmet's liner and his round face was slick with sweat and red with anger. He had been among the last to crowd into the gateway, had seen the chaos in front and had then been knocked over by an arrow strike on his breastplate. He had been astonished by the force of the blow, like being kicked by a horse, and the plate had a bright gouge in it. He had struggled up only to be hit by a second arrow which, like the first, had failed to pierce the thick plate, but he was knocked back again, and then the panic of the survivors had enveloped him and he had stumbled away with them. They let you go?“ he greeted Robbie who he saw had a dark bruise on his forehead. They sent me with a message, lord. Robbie said. If they receive their money,” he went on, they will leave without more fighting.“ It's your money!” Joscelyn snarled. So you pay them. Do you have it?"

No, lord."

Then we damned well kill them. We damned well kill them all!“ Joscelyn turned on signor Gioberti. How long will it take you to bring down the whole archway?”

Gioberti thought for a second. He was a small man, nearly fifty, with a deeply lined face. A week, lord. he estimated. One of his bolts had hit the side of the arch and ripped out a barrowload of stones, suggesting that the castle was in ill repair. Maybe ten days. he amended his answer, and in another ten days I can bring down half the curtain wall."

We'll crush them in ruins. Joscelyn snarled, then slaughter the damned lot.“ He turned on his squire. Is my supper ready?” Yes, lord.

Joscelyn ate alone. He had thought he would eat in the castle's hall this night and listen to the screams of the archers having their fingers cut off, but fate had decreed otherwise. So now he would take his time, reduce the castle to rubble, then have his revenge. And next morning Guy Vexille and Charles Bessieres came to Castillon d'Arbizon with over fifty men. It seemed that Vexille had failed to find his heretic but, for reasons Joscelyn neither cared about nor understood, he believed the man and his beghard woman would be coming to the besieged castle.

You catch them. Joscelyn said, and the man's yours. But the woman's mine."

She belongs to the Church," Vexille said.

Mine first,“ Joscelyn insisted, the Church can play with her next and the devil can have her afterwards.”

The gun fired and the castle gateway trembled.

Thomas and his companions spent a wet night under the trees. In the morning three of the coredors had vanished with their women, but fourteen men were left with eight women, six children and, most usefully, seven crossbows. They were all old bows with goat leg levers to draw the string, which meant they were less powerful than the steel-shafted bows that used cranked handles to draw the cord, but in a fight the old sort were quick to reload and lethal enough at short distances.

The horsemen had gone from the valley. It took Thomas most of the morning to satisfy himself of that, but eventually he saw a pig-herder bringing his animals towards the woods and, shortly after that, the road leading south beside the stream was suddenly busy with folk who looked like fugitives for they were carrying huge loads and pushing handcarts piled with goods. He guessed the horsemen had got bored waiting for him and had attacked a nearby town or village instead, but the sight of the people reassured him that no soldiers were close and so they went on westwards. The next day, as they took a high southern route that kept them away from the valleys and roads, he heard the gun in the distance. At first he thought it was a strange kind of thunder, an abrupt clap with no fading rumble, but there were no dark clouds in the west, and then it sounded again, and at midday a third time and he realized it was a cannon. He had seen cannons before, but they were uncommon, and he feared what the strange device might do to his friends in the castle. If they were still his friends. He hurried, tending north now towards Castillon d'Arbizon, but forced to take care each time he came to an open valley or a place where horsemen might lie in ambush. He shot a roe deer that evening and they each had a morsel of the uncooked liver for they dared not light a fire. At dusk, when he carried the roe back to their encampment, he had seen the smoke to the north-west and known it came from the cannon, and that meant he was very close, so close that he stayed on guard till the heart of the night, then woke Philin and made him serve as a sentry.

It was raining in the morning. The coredors were miserable and hungry and Thomas tried to cheer them by promising them that warmth and food were not far off. But the enemy were also nearby and he went cautiously. He dared not leave his bow strung, for the rain would weaken the string. He felt naked without an arrow on the cord. The sound of the gun, firing every three or four hours, grew louder, and by the early afternoon Thomas could hear the distinct crash of the missiles striking stone. But then, as he breasted a rise and the rain at last ended, he saw that the Earl of Northampton's flag still hung drab and damp on the keep's high staff and that gave him encouragement. It did not denote safety, but it promised an English garrison to fight at his side. They were close now, perilously close. The rain might have stopped, but the ground was slippery and Thomas fell twice as he scrambled down the steep wooded slope which led to the river that curled about the castle's crag. He planned to approach the castle as he had escaped it, by crossing the weir beside the mill, but as he reached the foot of the slope, where the trees grew close to the mill pond, he saw his fears had been justified and that the enemy had anticipated him for a crossbowman was standing in the mill's doorway. The man, wearing a chain mail coat, was beneath a small thatched porch that hid him from any archers on the castle battlements though, when Thomas looked up the hill, he saw no archers there. The besiegers doubtless had crossbows in the town and would shoot at any man who exposed himself. Kill him." Genevieve was crouching beside Thomas and had seen the lone crossbowman across the river.

And warn the others?"

What others?"

He's not alone there,“ Thomas said. He reckoned the miller and his family must have gone because the spillway chute had been lowered and the great waterwheel was motionless, but the besiegers would not have posted a single man to guard the difficult route across the weir's top. There were probably a dozen men there. He could shoot the first, that was no problem, but then the others would shoot at him from the door and from the two windows facing the river and he would have no chance of crossing the weir. He stared for a long time, thinking, then went back to Philin and the coredors who were hiding farther up the slope. I need flint and steel,” he told Philin.

The coredors travelled frequently and needed to make fires every night so several of the women had flint and steel, but one also had a leather pouch filled with the powder made from puffball fungi. Thomas thanked her, promised her a reward for the precious powder, then went downstream until he was hidden from the sentry standing under the mill's porch. He and Genevieve searched the undergrowth for small scraps of kindling and for newly fallen chestnut leaves. He needed twine so he pulled a strand from the shirt Genevieve wore beneath her mail coat, then piled some kindling on a flat stone, liberally sprinkled it with powder, and gave the steel and flint to Genevieve. Don't light it yet," he told her. He did not want smoke drifting out of the almost bare trees to alert the men across the river.

He took the thicker scraps of kindling and bound them to the head of a broad-head arrow. It took time, but after a while he had a thick bunch of kindling that he would protect with the big chestnut leaves. A fire arrow had to be burning well, but the rush of its flight could extinguish the flames and the leaves would help prevent that. He wet the leaves in a puddle, placed them over the dry twigs, tied the twine off, then shook the arrow to make certain the bunched kindling was secure. Light it now," he told Genevieve. She rapped the flint and the puffball powder flared instantly, then the kindling took and a brief, bright flame shot up. Thomas let the fire grow, held the arrow to it, let it catch and then held it an instant so that all the kindling was burning. The ash shaft blackened as he edged downhill until he could see the mill's thatched roof.

He drew. The fire scorched his left hand so he could not draw to the bow's full extent, but the distance was short. He prayed no one was staring out of the mill's windows, said another prayer to Saint Sebastian that the arrow would fly properly, and loosed. The broad-head flew. It arched from the trees, trailing smoke, and thumped into the thatch halfway up the roof. The sound must have alerted the men inside the mill, but at that moment the gun fired in the town and that much greater noise would probably have distracted them.

He stamped out Genevieve's small fire, then led her back upstream and beckoned Philin and the men with the crossbows to creep down to the wood's edge. Now he waited.

The mill's thatch was damp, it had been raining heavily and the mossy straw was dark with moisture. Thomas could see a wisp of smoke coming from where the arrow had buried itself in the dirty, ragged roof, but there were no flames. The crossbowman was still in the doorway, yawning. The river had been swollen by the rain and was pouring over the weir in a thick, green-white rill that would tug at the ankles as they tried to cross. Thomas looked back to the mill roof and thought the smoke was dying. He would have to do it all again, and keep doing it until he was discovered or the fire caught, and just as he was making up his mind to take Genevieve back downstream to find new kindling, the roof suddenly emitted a surge of smoke. It thickened fast, billowing up like a small rain cloud, then a flame appeared in the thatch and Thomas had to hush the coredors who had begun to cheer. The fire spread with extraordinary rapidity. The arrow must have carried the kindling into the drier layer beneath the dark, wet straw and the flames now burst through the black, moss-covered outer sheath. In only seconds half the roof was ablaze and Thomas knew this was a fire that would never be extinguished. It would set light to the beams, the roof would collapse, and then the mill's great wooden workings would burn until there was nothing left but a smoke-blackened stone shell.

Then the men burst out of the door. Now,“ Thomas said, and his first broad-head seared across the stream and threw a man back through the door, and the coredors were loosing their cross bows that gave clicks as the cords were freed. The bolts clattered on stone, struck a man in the leg, and Thomas's second and third arrows were on the way before the crossbows shot again. One of the men from the mill succeeded in scrambling away behind the burning building, doubtless going to alert the other besiegers, and Thomas knew time was short, but more men came from the mill and he shot again, saw he had put an arrow through a woman's neck, had no time for regrets, pulled the cord and loosed again. Then the doorway was empty and he pulled one of the cross bowmen away from the bank and told the others to keep shooting at anyone who showed in the doorway. Cross now!” he called to Philin.

Thomas and the crossbowman negotiated the weir first. The stone sill was about as broad as a man's foot, and it was slippery, but they edged across, the water fierce against their feet. Philin, his son on his shoulders, led the other coredors across as Thomas, at last gaining the town bank, sent an arrow into the flame lit interior of the mill. There were bodies by the doorway. Some still moved. The woman he had shot looked at him with wide, dead eyes. A crossbow bolt hammered down from the wood which lay between the mill and the town wall above and the quarrel narrowly missed Thomas to splash into the mill pond, but then a white feathered arrow hissed down from the keep's rampart and slashed into the trees where the crossbowman was hidden. No more bolts came.

A woman slipped on the weir and screamed as she fell down its face into the churning white water. Leave her!“ Philin shouted. Up the path!” Thomas yelled. Go, go!“ He sent one of the cor edors up first because the man was armed with an axe; Thomas had told him to hack through the small gate in the wall at the hill's top. He turned to the crossbowmen over the river whose aim was now obscured by the folk scrambling up the town bank. Come on!” he called to them, and though none spoke English they under stood him well enough, and then a great crash sounded from the mill as a section of the roof collapsed and a gout of sparks and flames erupted from the fallen joists and rafters.

And at that instant the mill's last defender came running from the doorway. He was a tall man, dressed in leather rather than mail, and his hair was smoking from the fire and his face, as ugly as any Thomas had ever seen, was fixed in a rictus of hate. The man leaped the barrier of dead and dying and for a second Thomas thought the man was charging him, but then he twisted away in an attempt to escape and Thomas pulled the cord, loosed, and the arrow plunged between the man's shoulder-blades and hurled him forward. The wounded man had been carrying a belt which had a sword, a knife and a crossbowman's quiver attached to it, and the belt skidded away in the wet leaves. Thomas thought that any spare missiles would always be welcome and so he ran to pick up the belt, and the man, who had to be dying, snatched at Thomas's ankle. Bastard,“ the man said in French, bastard!” Thomas kicked the man in the face, breaking his teeth, then stamped down with his heel to break some more. The dying man released his grip and Thomas kicked him again, just to keep him still. Up the hill!" he shouted. He saw that Genevieve had crossed the weir safely and he tossed her the belt with its weapons and quarrel-case, then followed her up the path towards the small gate behind Saint Sardos's church. Would the enemy be guarding it? But if they were, that enemy was in trouble, for more archers were on the castle's tower now and they were shooting down into the town. They were standing, shooting, ducking down and Thomas could hear the sound of crossbow bolts banging into the castle's stone.