The Grail Quest 3 - Heretic

Thomas and his men left Astarac in the early afternoon, riding horses that were weighed down with cuts of meat, cooking pots, anything at all that was of value and that could be sold in Castillon d'Arbizon's marketplace. Thomas kept looking back, wondering why he felt nothing for this place, but also knowing he would be back. There were secrets in Astarac and he must unlock them.

Robbie alone rode a horse that was not encumbered with plunder. He had been the last to join the raiders, coming from the monastery with a strangely contented expression. He offered no explanation for his lateness, nor why he had spared the Cistercians. He just nodded at Thomas and fell into the column as it started westwards.

They would be late home. It would probably be dark, but Thomas was not concerned. The coredors would not attack, and if the Count of Berat had sent forces to intercept their homeward journey then they should see those pursuers from the ridge tops and so he rode without worries, leaving behind misery and smoke in a shattered village.

So did you find what you were looking for?" Sir Guillaume asked.

No."

Sir Guillaume laughed. A fine Sir Galahad you are!“ He glanced at the things hanging from Thomas's saddle. You go for the Holy Grail and come back with a heap of goatskins and a haunch of mutton.”

That'll roast well with vinegar sauce,“ Thomas said. Sir Guillaume looked behind to see a dozen coredors had followed them up onto the ridge. We're going to have to teach those bastards a lesson.”

We will. Thomas said, we will."

There were no men-at-arms waiting to ambush them. Their only delay occurred when a horse went lame, but it was nothing more than a stone caught in its hoof. The coredors vanished as the dusk approached. Robbie was again riding in the vanguard, but when they were halfway home and the sun was a sinking red ball before them, he turned back and fell in beside Thomas. Genevieve was off to one side and she pointedly moved her mare farther away, but if Robbie noticed he made no comment. He glanced at the goatskins draped behind Thomas's saddle. My father once had a cloak of horseskin. he said by way of breaking the silence that had lasted too long between them, and then, without adding any more details of his father's curious taste in clothing, he looked embarrassed. I've been thinking," he said.

A dangerous occupation,“ Thomas answered lightly. Lord Outhwaite let me come with you,” Robbie said, but would he mind if I left you?"

Left me?" Thomas was surprised.

I'll go back to him, of course,“ Robbie said, eventually.” Eventually?" Thomas asked, suspicious. Robbie was a prisoner and his duty, if he was not with Thomas, was to go back to Lord Outhwaite in northern England and wait there until his ransom was paid.

There are things I have to do,“ Robbie explained, to put my soul straight.”

Ah. Thomas said, embarrassed himself now. He glanced at the silver crucifix on his friend's chest.

Robbie was staring at a buzzard that quartered the lower hill, looking for small game in the dying light. I was never one for religion. he said softly. None of the men in our family are. The women care, of course, but not the Douglas men. We're good soldiers and bad Christians.“ He paused, plainly uncomfortable, then shot a swift glance at Thomas. You remember that priest we killed in Brittany?”

Of course I do. Thomas said. Bernard de Taillebourg had been a Dominican friar and the Inquisitor who had tortured Thomas. The priest had also helped Guy Vexille kill Robbie's brother, and together Thomas and Robbie had chopped him down in front of an altar.

I wanted to kill him. Robbie said.

You said,“ Thomas reminded him, that there was no sin that some priest could not undamn, and that, I assume, includes killing priests.”

I was wrong,“ Robbie said. He was a priest and we shouldn't have killed him.”

He was the bastard turd of the devil,“ Thomas said vengefully. He was a man who wants what you want. Robbie said firmly, and he killed to get it, but we do the same, Thomas.” Thomas made the sign of the cross. Are you worried about my soul. he asked caustically, or yours?"

I was talking to the abbot in Astarac. Robbie said, ignoring Thomas's question, and I told him about the Dominican. He said I'd done a dreadful thing and that my name was on the devil's list.“ That had been the sin Robbie had confessed, though Abbot Planchard was a wise enough man to know that something else worried the young Scot and that the something else was probably the beghard. But Planchard had taken Robbie at his word and become stern with him. He ordered me to do a pilgrimage. Robbie went on. He said I had to go to Bologna and pray at the blessed Dominic's tomb, and that I would be given a sign if Saint Dominic forgives me for the killing.”

Thomas, after his earlier conversation with Sir Guillaume, had already decided that it would be best if Robbie went, and now Robbie was making it easy for him. Yet he pretended to be reluctant. You can stay through the winter. he suggested.

No. Robbie said firmly. I'm damned, Thomas, unless I do some thing about it.

Thomas remembered the Dominican's death, the fire flickering on the tent walls, the two swords chopping and stabbing at the writhing friar who twitched in his dying blood. Then I'm damned too, eh?"

Your soul is your concern. Robbie said, and I can't tell you what to do. But the abbot told me what I should do." Then go to Bologna. Thomas said and hid his relief that Robbie had decided to leave.

It took two days to discover how best Robbie could make the journey, but after talking to a pilgrim who had come to worship at Saint Sardos's tomb in the town's upper church they decided he would do best to go back to Astarac and from there strike south to Saint Gaudens. Once at Saint Gaudens he would be on a well-travelled road where he would find companies of merchants travel

ling together and they would welcome a young, strong man-at-arms to help protect their convoys. From Saint Gaudens you should go north to Youlouse. the pilgrim said, and make sure you stop at the shrine of Saint Sernin and ask for his protection. The church has one of the whips used to scourge our Lord and if you pay they will let you touch it and you will never suffer blindness. Then you must continue to Avignon. Those roads are well patrolled, so you should be safe. And at Avignon you must seek the Holy Father's blessing and ask someone else how to journey farther east."

The most dangerous part of the journey was the first and Thomas promised he would escort Robbie to within sight of Astarac to make sure he was not troubled by any coredors. He also gave him a bag of money from the big chest in the hall. It's more than your share. Thomas told him.

Robbie weighed the bag of gold. It's too much.“ Christ, man, you have to pay in taverns. Take it. And for God's sake don't gamble it away.”

I'll not do that. Robbie said. I promised Abbot Planchard I'd give up gambling and he made me take an oath in the abbey.“ And lit a candle, I hope?” Thomas asked.

Three. Robbie said, then made the sign of the cross. I'm to give up all sins, Thomas, until I've prayed to Dominic. That's what Planchard said.“ He paused, then smiled sadly. I'm sorry, Thomas.” Sorry? For what?"

Robbie shrugged. I've not been the best companion." He sounded embarrassed again and he said no more, but that night, when they all ate together in the hall to say farewell to Robbie, the Scotsman made a great effort to be courteous to Genevieve. He even gave her a portion of his mutton, a succulent piece, spiking it on his knife and insisting she let him put it on her plate. Sir Guillaume rolled his surviving eye in astonishment, Genevieve was gracious in her thanks and, next morning, under the lash of a cold north wind, they left to escort Robbie away.

The Count of Berat had only visited Astarac once and that had been many years before, and, when he saw the village again, he hardly recognized it. It had always been small, malodorous and poor, but now it had been ravaged. Half the village's thatch had been burned, leaving walls of scorched stone, and a great smear of blood scattered with bones, feathers and offal showed where the villagers" livestock had been butchered. Three Cistercian monks were distributing food from a handcart when the Count arrived, but that charity did not prevent a rush of ragged folk surrounding the Count, dragging off their hats, kneeling and holding out their hands for alms.

Who did this?" the Count demanded.

The English, sire. one of the monks answered. They came yesterday."

By Christ, but they'll die a hundred deaths for this," the Count declared.

And I'll inflict them. Joscelyn said savagely.

I'm almost minded to let you go to them. the Count said, but what can we do against their castle?"

Guns. Joscelyn said.

I have sent for the gun in Youlouse. the Count said angrily, then he scattered a few small coins among the villagers before spurring his horse past them. He paused to stare at the ruins of the castle on its crag, but he did not ride to the old fortress because it was late, the night was near and the air was cold. The Count was also tired and saddle-sore, and the unfamiliar armour he wore was chafing his shoulders and so, instead of climbing the long path to the shattered fortress he went on towards the dubious comforts at the Cistercian abbey of Saint Sever.

White-robed monks were trudging home from their work. One carried a great bundle of kindling, while others had hoes and spades. The last grapes were being harvested and two monks led an ox pulling a wagon loaded with baskets of deep purple fruit. They pulled the wagon aside as the Count and his thirty men-at arms clattered past towards the plain, undecorated buildings. No one in the monastery had been expecting visitors, but the monks greeted the Count without fuss and efficiently found stabling for the horses and provided bedding among the wine presses for the men-at-arms. A fire was lit in the visitors“ quarters where the Count, his nephew and Father Roubert would be entertained. The abbot will greet you after compline,” the Count was told, then he was served a meal of bread, beans, wine and smoked fish. The wine was the abbey's own and tasted sour.

The Count dismissed Joscelyn and Father Roubert to their own rooms, sent his squire to wherever the lad could find a bed, then sat alone by the fire. He wondered why God had sent the English to plague him. Was that another punishment for ignoring the Grail? It seemed likely, for he had convinced himself that God had indeed chosen him and that he must perform one great last task and then he would be rewarded. The Grail, he thought, almost in ecstasy. The Grail, the holiest of all holy things, and he had been sent to discover it; he fell to his knees by the open window and listened to the voices of the monks chanting in the abbey church and prayed that his quest would be successful. He went on praying long after the chanting had stopped and thus Abbot Planchard discovered the Count on his knees. Do I interrupt?" the abbot asked gently.

No, no.“ The Count winced with pain from his cramped knees as he (climbed to his feet. He had discarded his armour and wore a fur-lined gown and his customary woollen cap. I am sorry, Planchard, most sorry to impose on you. No warning, I know. Most inconvenient, I'm sure.”

The devil alone inconveniences me,“ Planchard said, and I know you are not sent by him.”

I do pray not. the Count said, then sat and immediately stood again. By rank he was entitled to the room's one chair, but the abbot was so very old that the Count felt constrained to offer it to him.

The abbot shook his head and sat on the window ledge instead. Father Roubert came to compline,“ he said, and talked with me afterwards.”

The Count felt a pulse of alarm. Had Roubert told Planchard why they were here? He wanted to tell the abbot himself. He is very upset. Planchard said. He spoke French, an aristo crat's French, elegant and precise.

Roubert's always upset when he's uncomfortable,“ the Count said, and it was a long journey and he's not used to riding. Not born to it, you see? He sits his horse like a cripple.” He paused, staring open-eyed at the abbot, then let out an explosive sneeze. Dear me,“ he said, his eyes watering. He wiped his nose with his sleeve. Roubert slouches in his saddle. I keep telling him to sit up, but he won't take advice.” He sneezed again. I do hope you're not catching an ague. the abbot said. Father Roubert was not upset because of weariness, but because of the beghard."

Ah, yes, of course. The girl.“ The Count shrugged. I rather think he was looking forward to seeing her burn. That would have been a fitting reward for all his hard work. You know he questioned her?”

With fire, I believe. Planchard said, then frowned. How odd that a beghard should be this far south. Their haunt is the north. But I suppose he is sure?"

Entirely! The wretched girl confessed."

As would I if I were put to the fire. the abbot said acidly. You know she rides with the English?"

I heard as much. the Count said. A bad business, Planchard, a bad business."

At least they spared this house. Planchard said. Is that why you came, my lord? To protect us from a heretic and from the English?"

Of course, of course. the Count said, but then moved a little closer to the truth of his journey. There was another reason too, Planchard, another reason altogether.“ He expected Planchard to ask what that reason was, but the abbot stayed silent and, for some reason, the Count felt uncomfortable. He wondered if Planchard would scoff at him. Father Roubert did not tell you?” he asked. He talked of nothing but the beghard."

Ah,“ the Count said. He did not quite know how to phrase his quest and so, instead, he plunged into the centre of it to see whether Planchard would understand what he was talking about. Calix meus imbrians,” he announced, then sneezed again. Planchard waited until the Count had recovered. The psalms of David. I love that particular one, especially that wonderful beginning. The Lord rules me and denies me nothing."

Calix meus inebrians. the Count said, ignoring the abbot's words, was carved above the gate of the castle here.“ Was it?”

You had not heard it?"

One hears so many things in this small valley, my lord, that it is necessary to distinguish between fears, dreams, hopes and reality."

“ Calix meus inebrians,” the Count repeated stubbornly, suspecting that the abbot knew exactly what he was talking about, but wanted to cloud the issue.

Planchard looked at the Count in silence for a while, then nodded. The tale is not new to me. Nor to you, I suspect?“ I believe. the Count said awkwardly, that God sent me here for a purpose.”

Ah, then you are fortunate, my lord!“ Planchard sounded impressed. So many folk come to me seeking God's purposes and all I can tell them is to watch, work and pray, and by doing so I trust they will discover the purpose in their own time, but it is rarely given openly. I envy you.”

It was given to you," the Count retorted.

No, my lord,“ the abbot said gravely. God merely opened a gate onto a field full of stones, thistles and weeds and left me to till it. It has been hard work, my lord, hard work, and I approach my end with most of it still to be done.”

Tell me of the story," the Count said.

The story of my life?" Planchard countered.

The story,“ the Count said firmly, of the cup that makes us drunk.”

Planchard sighed and, for a moment, looked very old. Then he stood. I can do better than that, my lord,“ he said, I can show you.”

Show me?“ The Count was astonished and elated. Planchard went to a cupboard and took out a horn lantern. He lit its wick with a brand from the fire, then invited the excited Count to follow him through a dark cloister and into the abbey church where a small candle burned beneath a plaster statue of Saint Benedict, the only decoration in the austere building. Planchard took a key from under his robe and led the Count to a small door which opened from an alcove that was half hidden by a side altar on the church's north side. The lock was stiff, but at last it gave way and the door creaked open. Be careful of the steps. the abbot warned, they are worn and very treacherous.” The lantern bobbed as the abbot went down a steep flight of stone stairs which turned sharp right into a crypt lined with great pillars between which bones were stacked almost to the arched ceiling. There were leg bones, arm bones and ribs stacked like fire wood, and between them, like lines of boulders, lay empty-eyed skulls. The brothers?" the Count asked.

Awaiting the blessed day of resurrection,“ Planchard said and went on to the farthest end of the crypt, stooping under a low arch and so into a small chamber where there was an ancient bench and a wooden chest reinforced with iron. He found some half-burned candles in a niche and lit them so that the small room flickered with light. It was your great-grandfather, God be praised, who endowed this house,” he said, taking another key from a pouch under his black robe. It was small before that and very poor, but your ancestor gave us land to thank God for the fall of the House of Vexille, and those lands are sufficient to support us, but not to make us wealthy. That is good and proper, but we do possess a few small things of value and this, such as it is, is our treasury." He bent to the chest, turned the massive key and lifted the lid.

At first the Count was disappointed for he thought there was nothing inside, but when the abbot brought one of the candles closer the Count saw the chest contained a tarnished silver paten, a leather bag and a single candlestick. The abbot pointed to the bag. That was given to us by a grateful knight whom we healed in the infirmary. He swore to us it contains Saint Agnes's girdle, but I confess I have never even opened the bag. I remember seeing her girdle in Basle, but I suppose she could have had two? My mother had several, but she was no saint, alas.“ He ignored the two pieces of silver and lifted out an object that the Count had not noticed in the chest's deep shadows. It was a box that Planchard placed on the bench. You must look at it closely, my lord. It is old and the paint has long faded. I am quite surprised that we did not burn it long ago, but for some reason we keep it.” The Count sat on the bench and lifted the box. It was square, but not deep, big enough to hold a man's glove, but nothing much larger. It was hinged with rusting iron and, when he lifted the lid, he saw it was empty. This is all?" he asked, his disappointment palpable.

Look at it, my lord,“ Planchard said patiently. The Count looked again. The interior of the wooden box was painted yellow and that paint had lasted better than the exterior surfaces, which were very faded, but the Count could see that the box had once been black and that a coat of arms had been painted on the lid. The arms were unfamiliar to him and so aged that it was hard to see them, but he thought there was a lion or some other beast rearing upright with an object held in its outstretched claws. A yale,” the abbot said, holding a chalice.“ A chalice? The Grail, surely?”

The arms of the Vexille family,“ Planchard ignored the Count's question, and local legend says the chalice was not added until just before Astarac's destruction.”

Why would they add a chalice?" the Count asked, feeling a small pulse of excitement.

Again the abbot ignored the question. You should look, my lord, at the front of the box."

The Count tipped the box until the candlelight glossed the faded paint and he saw that words had been painted there. They were indistinct and some letters had been rubbed clear away, but the words were still obvious. Obvious and miraculous. Calix Meus Inebrians. The Count stared at them, heady with the implications, so heady he could not speak. His nose was running, so he cuffed it impatiently.

The box was empty when it was found. Planchard said, or so I was told by Abbot Loix, God rest his soul. The story goes that the box was in a reliquary of gold and silver that was found on the altar of the castle's chapel. The reliquary, I am sure, was taken back to Berat, but this box was given to the monastery. As a thing of no value, I suppose."

The Count opened the box again and tried to smell the interior, but his nose was foully blocked. Rats scuttled among the bones

in the neighbouring crypt, but he ignored the sound, ignored every thing, just dreamed of what this box meant. The Grail, an heir, everything. Except, he thought, the box was too small to hold the grail. Or maybe not? Who knew what the Grail looked like? The abbot reached for the box, intending to return it to the chest, but the Count clutched it tight. My lord,“ the abbot said sternly, the box was empty. Nothing was found in Astarac. That is why I brought you here, to see for yourself. Nothing was found.” This was found!" the Count insisted. And it proves the Grail was here.

Does it?" the abbot asked sadly.

The Count pointed to the faded words on the box's side. What else does this mean?"

There is a Grail in Genoa,“ Planchard said, and the Benedictines at Lyons once claimed to own it. It is said, God let it not be true, that the real one is in the treasury of the Emperor at Constantinople. It was once reported to be in Rome, and again at Palermo, though that one, I think, was a Saracen cup captured from a Venetian vessel. Others say that the archangels came to earth and took it to heaven, though some insist it still lies in Jerusalem, protected by the flaming sword that once stood sentinel over Eden. It has been seen in Cordoba, my lord, in Nimes, in Verona and a score of other places. The Venetians claim it is preserved on an island that appears only to the pure of heart, while others say it was taken to Scotland. My lord, I could fill a book with stories of the Grail.”

It was here.“ The Count ignored everything Planchard had said. It was here,” he said again, and may still be here.“ I would like nothing more,” Planchard admitted, but where Parsifal and Gawain failed, can we hope to succeed?“ It is a message from God,” the Count averred, still clutching the empty box.

I think, my lord. Planchard said judiciously, that it is a message from the Vexille family. I think they made the box and painted it and they left it to mock us. They fled and let us think they had taken the Grail with them. I think that box is their revenge. I should burn it."

The Count would not relinquish the box. The Grail was here. he maintained.

The abbot, knowing he had lost the box, closed the chest and locked it. We are a small house, my lord. he said, but we are not entirely severed from the greater Church. I receive letters from my brethren and I hear things."

Such as?"

Cardinal Bessieres is searching for a great relic. the abbot said. And he is looking here!" the Count said triumphantly. He sent a monk to search my archives.

And if Bessieres is looking. Planchard warned, then you may be sure he will be ruthless in God's service.

The Count would not be warned. I have been given a duty. he asserted.

Planchard picked up the lantern. I can tell you nothing more, my lord, for I have heard nothing that tells me the Grail is at Astarac, but I do know one thing and I know it as surely as I know that my bones will soon rest with the brethren in this ossuary. The search for the Grail, my lord, drives men mad. It dazzles them, confuses them, and leaves them whimpering. It is a dangerous thing, my lord, and best left to the troubadours. Let them sing about it and make their poems about it, but for the love of God do not risk your soul by seeking it."

But if Planchard's warning had been sung by a choir of angels the Count would not have heard it.

He had the box and it proved what he wanted to believe. The Grail existed and he had been sent to find it. So he would. Thomas never intended to escort Robbie all the way to Astarac. The valley where that poor village lay had already been plundered, and so he meant to stop in the next valley where a slew of plump settlements were strung along the road south from Masseube, and then, when his men were busy about their devil's business, he and a few men would ride with Robbie to the hills overlooking Astarac and, if there were no coredors or other enemies in sight, let the Scotsman ride on alone.

Thomas had again taken his whole force except for a dozen men who guarded Castillon d'Arbizon's castle. He left most of his raiders in a small village beside the River Gers and took a dozen archers and as many men-at-arms to escort Robbie the last few miles. Genevieve stayed with Sir Guillaume who had discovered a great mound in the village that he swore was the kind of place where the old people, the ones who had lived before Christianity lit the world, hid their gold and he had commandeered a dozen shovels and begun to dig. Thomas and Robbie left them to their search and climbed the eastern hills on a winding trail that led through groves of chestnuts where peasants cut staves to support the newly planted vines. They saw no coredors; indeed they had seen no enemies all morning, though Thomas wondered how long it would be before the bandits saw the great plume of smoke boiling up from the warning pyre in the village where Sir Guillaume dug into his dreams. Robbie was in a nervous mood that he tried to cover with careless conversation. You remember that stilt-walker in London?“ he asked. The one who juggled when he was up on his sticks? He was good. That was a rare place, that was. How much did it cost to stay in that tavern in London?”

Thomas could not remember. A few pennies, perhaps.“ I mean, they'll cheat you, won't they?” Robbie asked anxiously. Who will?"

Tavern-keepers."

They'll drive a bargain,“ Thomas said, but they'd rather take a penny off you than get nothing. Besides, you can lodge in monasteries most nights.”

Aye, that's true. But you have to give them something, don't you?"

Just a coin. Thomas said. They had emerged onto the bare summit of the ridge and Thomas looked about for enemies and saw none. He was puzzled by Robbie's odd questions, then real ized that the Scotsman, who went into battle with apparent fearlessness, was nevertheless nervous at the prospect of travelling alone. It was one thing to journey at home, where folk spoke

your language, but quite another to set off for hundreds of miles through lands where a dozen strange tongues were used. The thing to do,“ Thomas said, is find some other folk going your way. There'll be plenty and they all want company.” Is that what you did? When you walked from Brittany to Normandy?"

Thomas grinned. I put on a Dominican's robe. No one wants a Dominican for company, but no one wants to rob one either. You'll be fine, Robbie. Any merchant will want you as company. A young man with a sharp sword? They'll be offering you the pick of their daughters to travel with them.

I've given my oath,“ Robbie said gloomily, then thought for a second. Is Bologna near Rome?”

I don't know."

I've a mind to see Rome. Do you think the Pope will ever move back there?"

God knows."

I'd like to see it, though,“ Robbie said wistfully, then grinned at Thomas. I'll say a prayer for you there.”

Say two,“ Thomas said, one for me and one for Genevieve.” Robbie fell silent. The moment for parting had almost come and he did not know what to say. They had curbed their horses, though Jake and Sam rode on until they could see down into the valley where the fires of Astarac's burned thatch still sifted a small smoke into the chill air.

We'll meet again, Robbie," Thomas said, taking off his glove and putting out his right hand.

Aye, I know."

And we'll always be friends,“ Thomas said, even if we're on different sides of a battle.”

Robbie grinned. Next time, Thomas, the Scots will win. Jesus, but we should have beaten you at Durham! We were that close!“ You know what archers say,” Thomas said. Close don't tally. Look after yourself, Robbie."

I will." They shook hands and just then Jake and Sam turned their horses and kicked back fast.

Men-at-arms!" Jake shouted.

Thomas urged his horse forward until he could see down the road that led to Astarac and there, not half a mile away, were horsemen. Mailed horsemen with swords and shields. Horsemen under a banner that hung limp so he could not see its device, and squires leading sumpter horses loaded with long clumsy lances. A whole band of horsemen coming straight towards him, or perhaps towards the great plume of smoke that rose from where his men savaged the village in the neighbouring valley. Thomas stared at them, just stared. The day had seemed so peaceful, so utterly empty of any threat, and now an enemy had come. For weeks they had been unmolested. Until now.

And Robbie's pilgrimage was forgotten, at least for the moment. For there was going to be a fight.

And they all rode back west.

Joscelyn, Lord of Beziers, believed his uncle was an old fool and, what was worse, a rich old fool. If the Count of Berat had shared his wealth it would have been different, but he was notoriously mean except when it came to patronizing the Church or buying relics like the handful of dirty straw he had purchased for a chest of gold from the Pope at Avignon. Joscelyn had taken one look at the Christ-child's bedding and decided it was dunged straw from the papal stables, but the Count was convinced it was the first bed of Jesus and now he had come to the miserable valley of Astarac where he was hunting for even more relics. Exactly what, Joscelyn did not know, for neither the Count nor Father Roubert would tell him, but Joscelyn was convinced it was a fool's errand. Yet, in recompense, he had command of thirty men-at-arms, though even that was a mixed blessing for the Count had given strict instructions that they were not to ride more than a mile from Astarac. You are here to protect me,“ he told Joscelyn, and Joscelyn wondered from what? A few coredors who would never dare attack real soldiers? So Joscelyn tried to organize a tourna ment in the village meadows, but his uncle's men-at-arms were mostly older men, few had fought in recent years and they had become accustomed to a life of comfort. Nor would the Count hire other men, preferring to let his gold gather cobwebs. So even though Joscelyn tried to instil some fighting spirit into the men he had, none would fight him properly, and when they fought each other they did so half-heartedly. Only the two companions he had brought south to Berat had any enthusiasm for their trade, but he had fought them so often that he knew every move they would make and they knew his. He was wasting his time, and he knew it, and he prayed ever more fervently that his uncle would die. That was the only reason Joscelyn stayed in Berat, so he would be ready to inherit the fabulous wealth reputed to be stored in the castle's undercroft and when he did, by God, he would spend it! And what a fire he would make with his uncle's old books and papers. The flames would be seen in Youlouse! And as for the Countess, his uncle's fifth wife, who was kept more or less locked up in the castle's southern tower so that the Count could be sure that any baby she bore would be his and his alone, Joscelyn would give her a proper baby-making ploughing then kick the plump bitch back into the gutter she came from. He sometimes dreamed of murdering his uncle, but knew that there would inevitably be trouble, and so he waited, content that the old man must die soon enough. And while Joscelyn dreamed of the inheritance, the Count dreamed of the Grail. He had decided he would search what was left of the castle and, because the chapel was where the box had been found, he ordered a dozen serfs to prise up the ancient flagstones to explore the vaults beneath where, as he expected, he found tombs. The heavy triple coffins were dragged from the niches and hacked open. Inside the outer casket, as often as not, was a lead coffin and that had to be split apart with an axe and the metal peeled away. The lead was stored on a cart to be taken to Berat, but the Count expected a far greater profit every time the inner coffin, usually of elm, was splintered open. He found skeletons, yellow and dry, their fingerbones touching in prayer, and in a few of the coffins he found treasures. Some of the women had been buried with necklaces or bangles, and the Count tore away the desiccated shrouds to get what plunder he could, yet there was no Grail. There were only skulls and patches of skin as dark as ancient parchment. One woman still had long golden hair and the Count marvelled at it. I wonder if she was pretty?” he remarked to Father Roubert. His voice sounded nasal and he was sneezing every few minutes. She's awaiting judgement day. the friar, who disapproved of this grave-robbing, said sourly.

She must have been young,“ the Count said, looking at the dead woman's hair, but as soon as he tried to lift it from the coffin the fine tresses disintegrated into dust. In one child's coffin there was an old chessboard, hinged so that it could fold into a shallow box. The squares, which on the Count's chessboards in Berat were painted black, were distinguished by small dimples, and the Count was intrigued by that, but much more interested in the handful of ancient coins that had replaced the chess pieces inside the box. They showed the head of Ferdinand, first King of Castile, and the Count marvelled at the fineness of the gold. Three hundred years old!” he told Father Roubert, then pocketed the money and urged the serfs to hammer open another vault. The bodies, once they had been searched, were put back in their wooden coffins and then into their vaults to await the day of judgement. Father Roubert said a prayer over each reburial and something in his tone irri tated the Count who knew he was being criticized.

On the third day, when all the coffins had been pilfered and none had proved to hold the elusive Grail, the Count ordered his serfs to dig into the space beneath the apse where the altar had once stood. For a time it seemed there was nothing there except soil packed above the bare rock of the knoll on which the castle had been built, but then, just as the Count was losing heart, one of the serfs pulled a silver casket from the earth. The Count, who was well wrapped up against the cold, was feeling weak. He was sneezing, his nose was running and sore, his eyes were red, but the sight of the tarnished box made him forget his troubles. He snatched it from the serf and scuttled back into the daylight where he used a knife to break the clasp. Inside was a feather. Just a feather. It was yellow now, but had probably once been white, and the Count decided it had to be from the wing of a goose. Why would someone bury a feather?“ he asked Father Roubert. Saint Sever is supposed to have mended an angel's wing here,” the Dominican explained, peering at the feather.

Of course!“ the Count exclaimed, and thought that would explain the yellowish colour for the wing would probably have been coloured gold. An angel's feather!” he said in awe. A swan's feather, more like. Father Roubert said dismissively. The Count examined the silver casket, which was blackened from the earth. That could be an angel. he said, pointing to a curlicue of tarnished metal.

It could equally well not be."

You're not being helpful, Roubert."

I pray for your success nightly. the friar answered stiffly, but I also worry about your health."

It is just a blocked nose. the Count said, though he suspected something worse. His head felt airy, his joints ached, but if he found the Grail all those troubles would surely vanish. An angel's feather!“ the Count repeated wonderingly. It's a miracle! A sign, surely?” And then there was another miracle, for the man who had discovered the silver box now revealed that there was a wall at the back of the hard-packed earth. The Count thrust the silver box and its heavenly feather into Father Roubert's hands, ran back and clambered up the pile of soil to examine the wall for himself. Only a scrap of it was visible, but that part was made from trimmed stone blocks and, when the Count seized the serf's spade and rapped the stones, he convinced himself that the wall sounded hollow. Uncover it. he ordered excitedly, uncover it!“ He smiled triumphantly at Father Roubert. This is it! I know it!” But Father Roubert, instead of sharing the excitement of the buried wall, was looking up at Joscelyn who, armed in his fine tour nament plate, had ridden his horse to the edge of the uncovered vaults. There is a smoke pyre. Joscelyn said, in the next valley." The Count could hardly bear to leave the wall, but he scrambled up a ladder and stared westwards to where, in the pale sky,

a dirty plume of smoke drifted southwards. It seemed to come from just across the nearest ridge. The English?" the Count asked in wonderment.

Who else?“ Joscelyn answered. His men-at-arms were at the bottom of the path that climbed to the castle. They were armoured and ready. We could be there in an hour. Joscelyn said, and they won't be expecting us.”

Archers. the Count said warningly, then sneezed and afterwards gasped for breath.

Father Roubert watched the Count warily. He reckoned the old man was getting a fever, and it would be his own fault for insisting on making this excavation in the cold wind.

Archers. the Count said again, his eyes watering. You must be cautious. Archers are not to be trifled with.“ Joscelyn looked exasperated, but it was Father Roubert who answered the Count's warning. We know they ride in small parties, my lord, and leave some archers behind to protect their fortress. There may only be a dozen of the wretches over there.” And we may never have another chance like this. Joscelyn put in.

We don't have many men. the Count said dubiously.

And whose fault was that? Joscelyn wondered. He had told his uncle to bring more than thirty men-at-arms, but the old fool had insisted that would be sufficient. Now the Count was staring at a patch of grubby wall uncovered at the end of the vault and letting his fears overwhelm him. Thirty men will be enough. Joscelyn insisted, if the enemy is few.

Father Roubert was staring at the smoke. Is this not the purpose of the fires, my lord?“ he enquired. To let us know when the enemy is near enough to strike?” That was indeed one purpose of the fires, but the Count wished Sir Henri Courtois, his military leader, was with him to offer advice. And if the enemy party is small. Father Roubert went on, then thirty men-at-arms will suffice.“ The Count reckoned he would have no peace to explore the mysterious wall unless he gave his permission and so he nodded. But take care!” he ordered his nephew. Make a reconnaissance first! Remember the advice of Vegetius!" Joscelyn had never heard of Vegetius so would be hard put to remember the man's advice and the Count might have sensed that for he had a sudden idea. You'll take Father Roubert and he'll tell you whether it is safe to attack or not. Do you understand me, Joscelyn? Father Roubert will advise you and you will take his advice. That offered two advantages. The first was that the friar was a sensible and intelligent man and so would not let the hot-headed Joscelyn do

anything foolish, while second, and better, it would rid the Count of the Dominican's gloomy presence. Be back by nightfall. the Count commanded, and keep Vegetius in mind. Above all, keep Vegetius in mind!" These last words were called hurriedly as he clambered back down the ladder.

Joscelyn looked sourly at the friar. He did not like churchmen and he liked Father Roubert even less, but if the friar's company was the price he must pay for a chance to kill Englishmen, then so be it. You have a horse, father?“ he asked. I do, my lord.”

Then fetch it.“ Joscelyn turned his destrier and spurred it back to the valley. I want the archers alive!” he told his men when he reached them. Alive, so we can share the reward.“ And afterwards they would cut off the Englishmen's damned fingers, take out their eyes and then burn them. That was Joscelyn's daydream as he led his men westwards. He would have liked to travel fast, to reach the next valley before the English withdrew, but men-at-arms on their way to battle could not move swiftly. Some of the horses, like Joscelyn's own, were armoured with leather and mail, and the weight of the armour, let alone the weight of the riders” armour, inevitably meant that the destriers had to be walked if they were to be fresh for the charge. A few of the men had squires and those lesser beings led packhorses, which carried cumbersome bundles of lances. Men-at-arms did not gallop to war, but lumbered slow as oxen.

You will bear in mind your uncle's advice, my lord?" Father Roubert remarked to Joscelyn. He spoke to cover his nervousness. The friar was normally a grave and self-contained man, very conscious of his hard-won dignity, but now he found himself in unfamiliar, dangerous, but exciting territory.

My uncle's advice,“ Joscelyn responded sourly, was to heed yours. So tell me, priest, what you know of battle?” I have read Vegetius,“ Father Roubert answered stiffly. And who the hell was he?”

A Roman, my lord, and still considered the supreme authority on military matters. His treatise is called the Epitoma Rei Militaris, the essence of military things."

And what does this essence recommend?" Joscelyn asked sarcastically.

Chiefly, if I remember aright, that you should look to the enemy's flanks for an opportunity, and that on no account should you attack without a thorough reconnaissance.“ Joscelyn, his big tournament helmet hanging from his pommel, looked down on the friar's small mare. You're mounted on the lightest horse, father,” he said with amusement,“ so you can make the reconnaissance.”

Me!" Father Roubert was shocked.

Ride ahead, see what the bastards are doing, then come back and tell us. You're supposed to be giving me advice, aren't you? How the hell can you do that if you haven't made a reconnaissance? Isn't that what your vegetal advises? Not now, you fool!“ He called these last words because Father Roubert had obediently kicked his mare ahead. They're not up here. Joscelyn said, but in the next valley.” He nodded towards the smoke that seemed to be thickening. So wait till we're in the trees on the hill's far side." In fact they did see a handful of horsemen on the bare summit of the ridge, but the riders were far off and they turned and fled as soon as Joscelyn's men came into view. Coredors, as like as not, Joscelyn reckoned. Everyone had heard how the coredors were haunting the English in hope of earning one of the Count's rewards for an archer taken alive, though Joscelyn's view was that the only reward any coredor should ever fetch was a slow hanging. The coredors had vanished by the time Joscelyn reached the crest. He could see most of the valley ahead now, could see Masseube to the north and the road reaching south towards the high Pyrenees. The smoke plume was directly in front, but the village the English plundered was hidden by trees and so Joscelyn ordered the friar to ride ahead and, to give him some protection, ordered his two personal men-at-arms to accompany him.

Joscelyn and the rest of his men had almost reached the valley floor by the time the Dominican returned. Father Roubert was excited. They did not see us. he reported, and can't know we're here."

You can be sure of that?" Joscelyn demanded.

The friar nodded. His dignity had been replaced by a suddenly discovered enthusiasm for warfare. The road to the village goes through trees, my lord, and is well shielded from view. The trees thin out a hundred paces from the river and the road crosses it by a ford. It's shallow. We watched some men carry chestnut stakes to the village."

The English didn't interfere with them?"

The English, my lord, are delving into a grave mound in the village. There seemed to be no more than a dozen of them. The village itself is another hundred paces beyond the ford.“ Father Roubert was proud of this report which he considered to be careful and accurate, a reconnaissance of which Vegetius himself might have been proud. You may approach to within two hundred paces of the village. he concluded, and arm yourselves in safety before attacking.”

It was indeed an impressive report and Joscelyn looked quizzically at his two men-at-arms who nodded to show they agreed.

One of them, a Parisian named Villesisle, grinned. They're ready for butchering," he said.

Archers?" Joscelyn asked.

We saw two," Villesisle said.

Father Roubert was saving the best news till last. But one of the two, my lord,“ he said excitedly, was the beghard!” The heretic girl?"

So God will be with you!“ Father Roubert said vehemently. Joscelyn smiled. So your advice, Father Roubert, is what?” Attack!“ the Dominican said. Attack! And God will give us triumph!” He might be a cautious man by nature, but the sight of Genevieve had stirred his soul to battle.

And when Joscelyn reached the edge of the trees on the valley floor he saw that everything seemed to be exactly as the Dominican had promised. Beyond the river the English, apparently ignorant of the presence of enemies, had set no picquets to guard the road that came down from the ridge and instead were digging into the big mound of earth at the centre of the village. Joscelyn could see no more than ten men and the one woman. He dismounted briefly and let his squire tighten the buckles of his armour, then he heaved himself into the saddle again where he pulled on his great tournament helm with its yellow and red plume, leather padding, and cross shaped eye slits. He pushed his left arm through the loops of his shield, made sure his sword was loose in its scabbard, then reached down for his lance. Made of ash, it was sixteen feet long and painted in a spiral of yellow and red, the colours of his lord ship at Beziers. Similar lances had broken the best tourney fighters in Europe, now this one would do God's work. His men armed themselves with their own lances, some painted with Berat's colours of orange and white. Their lances were mostly thirteen or fourteen feet long, for none of Berat's men had the strength to carry a great lance like those Joscelyn used in tournaments. The squires drew their swords. Helmet visors were closed, reducing the world to bright slits of sunlight. Joscelyn's horse, knowing it was riding to battle, pawed the ground. All was ready, the unsuspecting English were oblivious of the threat and Joscelyn, at long last, was off his uncle's leash.

And so, with his men-at-arms tight bunched to either side, and with Father Roubert's prayer echoing in his head, he charged. Gaspard thought the hand of the Lord was on him, for the very first time he attempted to pour the gold into the delicate mould that had once held the wax model of his Mass cup, it worked. He had told his woman, Yvette, that it might take ten or eleven attempts, that he was not even sure he could make the cup for the detail of the filigree was so delicate that he doubted the molten gold would fill every cranny of the mould, but when, with a beating heart, he broke away the fired clay he found that his wax creation had been reproduced almost perfectly. One or two details were lumpish and in some places the gold had failed to make the twist of a leaf or the spine of a thorn, but those defects were soon put right. He filed away the rough edges, then polished the whole cup. That took a week, and when it was done he did not tell Charles Bessieres that he had finished, instead he claimed there was still more work to do when in truth he simply could not relinquish the beautiful thing he had made. He reckoned it was the finest piece of goldsmithing ever achieved.

So he made a lid for the cup. It was conical, like the cover of a font, and at its crown he placed a cross, and about its rim he hung pearls, and on its sloping sides he made the symbols of the four evangelists. A lion for St Mark, an ox for Luke, and angel for Matthew and an eagle for John. That piece, not quite as delicate as the cup itself, also came sweetly from the mould and he filed and polished it, then assembled the whole thing. The golden cup holder, the ancient green glass cup itself and the new lid hung with pearls. Tell the Cardinal,“ he told Charles Bessieres as the exquisite thing was packed in cloth, straw and boxes, that the pearls stand for the tears of Christ's mother.” Charles Bessieres could not care what they stood for, but he grudgingly acknowledged that the chalice was a beautiful thing. If my brother approves of it,“ he said, then you'll be paid and freed.”

We can go back to Paris?“ Gaspard asked eagerly. You can go where you like,” Charles lied, but not till I tell you." He gave his men instructions that Gaspard and Yvette were to be well guarded while he was away, then took the chalice to his brother in Paris.

The Cardinal, when the cup was unwrapped and the three pieces assembled, clasped his hands in front of his breast and just stared. For a long time he said nothing, then he leaned forward and peered at the ancient glass. Does it seem to you, Charles,“ he asked, that the cup itself has a tinge of gold?”

Haven't looked," was the churlish reply.

The Cardinal carefully removed the lid then lifted the old glass cup from the golden cradle and held it to the light and he saw that Gaspard, in a moment of unwitting genius, had put an almost invisible layer of gold leaf around the cup so that the common glass was given a heavenly sheen of gold. The real Grail,“ he told his brother, is supposed to turn to gold when the wine of Christ's blood is added. This would pass for that.”

So you like it?"

The Cardinal reassembled the chalice. It is gorgeous,“ he said reverentially. It is a miracle.” He stared at it. He had not expected anything half as good as this. It was a wonder, so much so that for a brief instant he even forgot his ambitions for the papal throne. Perhaps, Charles“, there was awe in his voice now, perhaps it is the real Grail! Maybe the cup I bought was the true object. Perhaps God guided me to it!”

Does that mean,“ Charles said, unmoved by the cup's beauty, that I can kill Gaspard?”

And his woman,“ the Cardinal said without removing his gaze from the glorious thing. Do it, yes, do it. Then you will go south. To Herat, south of Toulouse.”

Berat?“ Charles had never heard of the place. The Cardinal smiled. The English archer has appeared. I knew he would! The wretched man has taken a small force to Castillon d'Arbizon, which I am told is close to Berat. He is a fruit ripe for the plucking, Charles, so I am sending Guy Vexille to deal with him and I want you, Charles, to be close to Guy Vexille.” You don't trust him?"

Of course I don't trust him. He pretends to be loyal, but he is not a man who is comfortable serving any master.“ The Cardinal lifted the cup again, gazed at it reverentially, then lay it back in the sawdust-filled box in which it had been brought to him. And you will take this with you.”

That!“ Charles looked appalled. What in Christ's name do I want with that?”

It is a heavy responsibility,“ the Cardinal said, handing his brother the box, but legend insists the Cathars possessed the Grail, so where else must it be discovered but close to the last strong hold of the heretics?”

Charles was confused. You want me to discover it?“ The Cardinal went to a prie-dieu and knelt there. The Holy Father is not a young man,” he said piously. In fact Clement was only fifty-six, just eight years older than the Cardinal, but even so Louis Bessieres was racked by the thought that Pope Clement might die and a new successor be appointed before he had a chance to make his claim with the Grail. We do not have the luxury of time and so I need the Grail.“ He paused. I need a Grail now! But if Vexille knows that Gaspard's cup exists then he will try to take it from you, so you must kill him when he has done his duty. His duty is to find his cousin, the English archer. So kill Vexille, then make that archer talk, Charles. Peel the skin from his flesh inch by inch, then salt him. He'll talk, and when he has told you every thing he knows about the Grail, kill him.”

But we have a Grail/ Charles said, hefting the box. There is a true one, Charles/ the Cardinal said patiently, and if it exists, and if the Englishman reveals where it is, then we shall not need the one you're holding, shall we? But if the Englishman is a dry well, then you will announce that he gave you that Grail. You will bring it to Paris, we shall sing a Te Deum, and in a year or two you and I shall have a new home in Avignon. And then, in due time, we shall move the papacy to Paris and the whole world shall marvel at us."

Charles thought about his orders and considered them unnec essarily elaborate. Why not produce the Grail here?“ No one will believe me if I find it in Paris/ the Cardinal said, his eyes fixed on an ivory crucifix hanging on the wall. They will assume it is a product of my ambition. No, it must come from a far place and rumours of its discovery must run ahead of its coming so that folk kneel in the street to welcome it.” Charles understood that. So why not just kill Vexille now?“ Because he has the zeal to find the true Grail and if it exists, I want it. Men know his name is Vexille, and they know his family once possessed the Grail, so if he is involved in its discovery then it will be all the more convincing. And another reason? He's well born. He can lead men and it will take all his force to prise that Englishman from his lair. Do you think forty-seven knights and men-at-arms will follow you?” The Cardinal had raised Vexille's force from his tenants, the lords who ruled the lands bequeathed to the Church in hope that prayers would wipe away the sins of the men who granted the land. Those men would cost the Cardinal dear, for the lords would not pay rents for a year now. You and I are from the gutter, Charles/ the Cardinal said, and men-at arms would despise you/

There must be a hundred lords who would seek your Grail/ Charles suggested.

A thousand and a thousand men would/ the Cardinal agreed mildly, but once they possessed the Grail they would take it to their King and that fool would lose it to the English. Vexille, so far as he is any man's, is mine, but I know what he will do when he has the Grail. He will steal it. So you will kill him before he has a chance."

He'll be a hard man to kill/ Charles worried.

Which is why I am sending you, Charles. You and your cut throat soldiers. Don't fail me/

That night Charles made a new receptacle for the fake Grail. It was a leather tube, of the sort crossbowmen used to carry their quarrels, and he packed the precious cup inside, padded the glass and gold with linen and sawdust, then sealed the tube's lid with wax.

And the next day Gaspard received his freedom. A knife slit his belly, then ripped upwards, so that he died slowly in a pool of blood. Yvette screamed so loudly that she was left voiceless, just gasping for breath, and showed no resistance as Charles cut the dress from her body. Ten minutes later, as a mark of gratitude for what he had just experienced, Charles Bessieres killed her quickly. Then the tower was locked.

And Charles Bessieres, the crossbowman's quiver safe at his side, led his hard men south.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, amen.“ Thomas said the words half aloud and crossed himself. Somehow the prayer did not seem sufficient and so he drew his sword, propped it up so the handle looked like a cross and dropped to one knee. He repeated the words in Latin. In nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti, amen.” God spare me, he thought, and he tried to remember when he had last made confession.

Sir Guillaume was amused by his piety. I thought you said there were few of them?"

There are,“ Thomas said, standing and sheathing his sword. But it doesn't hurt to pray before a fight.”

Sir Guillaume made a very sketchy sign of the cross, then spat. If there's only a few,“ he said, we'll murder the bastards.” If, indeed, the bastards were still coming. Thomas wondered if the horsemen had turned back towards Astarac. Who they were he did not know, and whether they were enemies he could not tell. They had certainly not been approaching from Berat for that lay northwards and the riders were coming from the east, but he was certain of one reassuring fact. He outnumbered them. He and Sir Guillaume commanded twenty archers and forty-two men-at arms and Thomas had estimated the approaching horsemen at less than half those numbers. Many of Thomas's new men-at-arms were routiers who had joined Castillon d'Arbizon's garrison for the opportunity of plunder and they were pleased at the thought of a skirmish that could provide captured horses, weapons and armour, and even, perhaps, the prospect of prisoners to ransom. You're sure they weren't coredors?“ Sir Guillaume asked him. They weren't coredors,” Thomas said confidently. The men on the ridge top had been too well armed, too well armoured and too well mounted to be bandits. They were flying a banner/ he added, but I couldn't see it. It was hanging straight down.“ Routiers, perhaps?” Sir Guillaume suggested.

Thomas shook his head. He could not think why any band of routiers would be in this desolate place or why they would fly a banner. The men he had seen had looked like soldiers on a patrol and, before he had turned tail and galloped back to the village, he had clearly marked the lances bundled on packhorses. Routiers would not just have lances on their sumpter horses, but bundles of clothing and belongings. I think/ he suggested, that Berat sent men to Astarac after we were there. Maybe they thought we'd go back for a second bite?"

So they're enemies?"

Do we have any friends in these parts?“ Thomas asked. Sir Guillaume grinned. You think twenty?”

Maybe a few more/ Thomas said, but no more than thirty.“ Perhaps you didn't see them all?”

We'll find out, won't we?“ Thomas asked. If they come.” Crossbows?"

Didn't see any."

Then let's hope they are coming here/ Sir Guillaume said wolfishly. He was as eager as any man to make money. He needed cash, and a lot of it, to bribe and fight and so regain his fief in Normandy. Maybe it's your cousin?" he suggested. Sweet Jesus/ Thomas said, I hadn't thought of that/ and he instinctively reached back and touched his yew bow because any mention of his cousin suggested evil. Then he felt a pulse of excite ment at the thought that it might truly be Guy Vexille who rode unsuspecting towards the fight.

If it is Vexille/ Sir Guillaume said, fingering the awful scar on his face, then he's mine to kill."

I want him alive/ Thomas said. Alive."

Best tell Robbie that/ Sir Guillaume said, because he's sworn to kill him too/ Robbie wanted that revenge for his brother. Maybe it isn't him/ Thomas said, but he wanted it to be his cousin, and he especially wanted it now for the coming fight promised to be a straightforward trouncing. The horsemen could only approach the village by the ford unless they elected to ride up or downstream to discover another crossing place, and a villager, threatened with a sword held to his baby daughter's eyes, said there was no other bridge or ford within five miles. So the horsemen had to come straight from the ford to the village street and, in the pastures between the two, they must die. Fifteen men-at-arms would protect the village street. For the moment those men were hidden in the yard of a substantial cottage, but when the enemy came from the ford they would emerge to bar the road, and Sir Guillaume had commandeered a farm cart that would be pushed across the street to make a barrier against the horsemen. In truth Thomas did not expect that the fifteen men would need to fight, for behind the orchard hedges on either side of the road he had deployed his archers. It was the bowmen who would do the initial killing and they had the luxury of readying their arrows, which they thrust point down in the roots of the hedges. Nearest them were the broad-heads, arrows that had a wedge-shaped blade at their tip, and each blade had deep tangs so that once it was imbedded in flesh it could not be pulled out. The archers honed the broad-heads on the whetstones they carried in their pouches to make sure they were razor sharp. You wait,“ Thomas told them, wait till they reach the field marker.” There was a white painted stone by the road that showed where one man's pasture ended and another's began, and when the first horsemen reached the stone their destriers would be struck by the broad-heads, which were designed to rip deep, to wound terribly, to drive the horses mad with pain. Some of the destriers would go down then, but others would survive and swerve about the dying beasts to continue the charge, so when the enemy was close the archers would switch to their bodkin arrows. The bodkins were made to pierce armour and the best of them had shafts made of two kinds of wood. The leading six inches of ash or poplar was replaced with heavy oak that was scarfed into place with hoof glue, and the oak was tipped with a steel head that was as long as a man's middle finger, as slender as a woman's little finger and sharpened to a point. That needle-like head, backed by the heavier oak shaft, had no barbs: it was just a smooth length of steel that punched its way through mail and would even penetrate plate armour if it hit plumb. The broad-heads were to kill horses, the bodkins to kill men, and if it took a minute for the horsemen to come from the field marker to the edge of the village, Thomas's twenty archers could loose at least three hundred arrows and still have twice as many in reserve.

Thomas had done this so many times before. In Brittany, where he had learned his trade, he had stood behind hedges and helped destroy scores of enemies. The French had learned the hard way and had taken to sending crossbowmen ahead, but the arrows just killed them as they reloaded their clumsy weapons and the horsemen then had no choice but to charge or retreat. Either way the English archer was king of the battlefield, for no other nation had learned to use the yew bow.

The archers, like Sir Guillaume's men, were hidden, but Robbie commanded the rest of the men-at-arms who were the lure. Most of them were apparently scattered on the mound which was just to the north of the village street. One or two dug, the rest simply sat as if they rested. Two others fed the village bonfire, making sure that the smoke beckoned the enemy onwards. Thomas and Genevieve walked to the mound and, while Genevieve waited at its foot, Thomas climbed up to look into the great hole Sir Guillaume had made. Empty?"

Lots of pebbles,“ Robbie said, but none of them gold.” You know what to do?"

Robbie nodded cheerfully. Wait till they're in chaos,“ he said, then charge.”

Don't go early, Robbie."

We'll not go early/ an Englishman called John Faircloth answered. He was a man-at-arms, much older and more experi enced than Robbie, and although Robbie's birth entitled him to the command of the small force, Robbie knew well enough to take the older man's advice.

We'll not let you down," the Scot said happily. His men's horses were picketed just behind the mound. As soon as the enemy appeared they would run down from the small height and mount up, and when the enemy was scattered and broken by the arrows, Robbie would lead a charge that would curl round their rear and so trap them.

It might be my cousin coming/ Thomas said. I don't know that/ he added, but it might be."

He and I have a quarrel/ Robbie said, remembering his brother. I want him alive, Robbie. He has answers."

But when you have your answers/ Robbie said, I want his throat/

Answers first, though/ Thomas said, then turned as Genevieve called him from the foot of the mound.

I saw something/ she said, in the chestnut woods/ Don't look!“ Thomas called to those of Robbie's men who had overheard her, then, making a great play of stretching his arms and looking bored, he slowly turned and stared across the stream. For a few heartbeats he could see nothing except two peasants carrying bundles of stakes across the ford and he thought, for a second, Genevieve must have meant those men, then he looked beyond the river and saw three horsemen half hidden by a thicket of trees. The three men probably thought they were well concealed, but in Brittany Thomas had learned to spot danger in thick woods. They're taking a look at us/ he said to Robbie. Not long now, eh?” He strung his bow.

Robbie stared at the horsemen. One's a priest/ he said dubi ously.

Thomas stared. Just a black cloak/ he guessed. The three men had turned and were riding away. They were soon lost to sight in the thicker woods.

Suppose it's the Count of Berat?“ Robbie asked. Suppose it is?” Thomas sounded disappointed. He wanted the enemy to be his cousin.

If we capture him/ Robbie said, there'll be a rare ransom/ True/

So would you mind if I stayed until it's paid?“ Thomas was disconcerted by the question. He was used to the idea that Robbie was leaving and so ridding his men of the rancour caused by his jealousy. You'd stay with us?”

To get my share of the ransom/ Robbie said, bridling. Is there anything wrong with that?"

No, no/ Thomas hurried to soothe his friend. You'll get your share, Robbie/ He thought maybe he could pay Robbie's share from his existing stock of cash and so spur the Scotsman on his penitential way, but this was not the time to make the suggestion. Don't charge too early,“ he warned Robbie again, and God be with you.”

It's time we had a good fight,“ Robbie said, his spirits restored. Don't let your archers kill the rich ones. Leave some for us.” Thomas grinned and went back down the mound. He strung Genevieve's bow, then walked with her to where Sir Guillaume and his men were concealed. Not long now, lads," he called, climbing onto the farm wagon to see across the yard's wall. His archers were concealed in the pear orchard's hedge beneath him, their bows strung and the first broad-heads resting on their strings. He joined them and then waited. And waited. Time stretched, slowed, crawled to a halt. Thomas waited so long that he began to doubt any enemy would come, or worse, he feared the horsemen had smelt out his ambush and were circling far up or down stream to ambush him. His other worry was that the town of Masseube, which was not so very far away, might send men to find out why the villagers had lit their warning pyre.

Sir Guillaume shared the anxiety. Where the hell are they?" he asked when Thomas came back to the yard to climb onto the wagon so he could see across the river.

God knows." Thomas gazed into the far chestnuts and saw nothing to alarm him. The leaves had just started to change colour. Two pigs were rooting among the trunks.

Sir Guillaume was wearing a full-length hauberk, the mail covering him from shoulder to ankle. He had a scarred breastplate that was tied in place with rope, one plate vambrace that he buckled on his right forearm, and a plain sallet for a helmet. The sallet had a wide sloping brim to deflect downward sword blows, but it was a cheap piece of armour with none of the strength of the best helmets. Most of Thomas's men-at-arms were similarly protected with bits and pieces of armour they had scavenged from old battle fields. None had full plate armour, and all of their mail coats were patched, some with boiled leather. Some carried shields. Sir Guillaume's was made of willow boards covered with leather on which his coat of arms, the three yellow hawks on a blue field, had faded almost to invisibility. Only one other man-at-arms had a device on his shield, in his case a black axe on a white field, but he had no idea whose badge it was. He had taken the shield off a dead enemy in a skirmish near Aiguillon, which was one of the principal English garrisons in Gascony. Has to be an English shield/ the man reckoned. He was a Burgundian mercenary who had fought against the English, been discharged at the truce after the fall of Calais and was now hugely relieved that the yew bows were on his side. Do you know the badge?“ the man asked. Never seen it/ Thomas said. How did you get the shield?” Sword into his spine. Under the back plate. His buckles had got cut and the back plate was flapping around like a broken wing. Christ, but he screamed/

Sir Guillaume chuckled. He took half a loaf of dark bread from beneath his breastplate and tore off a chunk, then swore as he bit into it. He spat out a scrap of granite that must have broken off the stone when the grain was milled, felt his broken tooth and swore again. Thomas glanced up to see that the sun lay low in the sky. We'll be late home/ he grumbled. It'll be dark.“ Find the river and follow it/ Sir Guillaume said, then flinched with the pain from his tooth. Jesus/ he said, I hate teeth.” Cloves/ the Burgundian said. Tut cloves in your mouth. Stops the pain/

Then the two pigs among the distant chestnuts raised their heads, stood for a heartbeat and lumbered south in ungainly haste. Something had alarmed them and Thomas held up a warning hand as if the voices of his companions might disturb any approaching horsemen, and just at that moment he saw a gleam of reflected sunlight from the trees across the river and he knew it must come from a piece of armour. He jumped down. We've got company/ he said, and ran to join the other archers behind the hedge. Wake up/ he told them, the little lambs are coming for their slaughter/ He took his place behind the hedge and Genevieve stood beside him, an arrow on her string. Thomas doubted she would hit anyone, but he grinned at her. Stay hidden till they reach the field marker/ he told her, then peered over the hedge. And there they were. The enemy, and almost as soon as they appeared Thomas saw that his cousin was not there for the flag, spread now as its carrier trotted from the trees, showed the orange and white leopard badge of Berat instead of the yale of Vexille. Keep your heads down!“ Thomas warned his men as he tried to count the enemy. Twenty? Twenty-five? Not many, and only the first dozen carried lances. The men's shields, each showing the orange leopard on its white field, confirmed what the banner said, that these were the Count of Herat's horsemen, but one man, mounted on a huge black horse that was hung with armour, had a yellow shield with a red mailed fist, a device unknown to Thomas, and that man was also in a full harness of plate and had a red and yellow plume flying high on his helm. Thomas counted thirty one horsemen. This would not be a fight, it would be a massacre. And suddenly, oddly, it all seemed unreal to him. He had expected to feel excitement and some fear, but instead he watched the horsemen as though they had nothing to do with him. Their charge was ragged, he noted. When they had first come from the trees they had been riding boot to boot, as men should, but they quickly spread out. Their lances were held upright and would not drop to the killing position until the horsemen were close to their enemy. One lance was tipped with a ragged black pennant. The horses” trappers flapped. The sound was of hooves and the clash of armour as pieces of plate rapped each other. Great clods of earth were slung up behind the hooves; one man's visor went up and down, up and down as his horse rose and fell. Then the onrush of horsemen narrowed as they all tried to cross the ford at its narrowest point and the first white splashes of water rose as high as the saddles.

They came out of the ford. Robbie's men had vanished and the horsemen, thinking that it was now a pursuit of a panicked enemy, touched spurs to destriers and the big horses thumped up the road, stringing out, and then the first of them were at the field marker and Thomas heard a trundling noise as the farm cart was pushed out to block the road.

He stood and instinctively took a bodkin arrow instead of a broad head. The man with the yellow and red shield rode a horse that had a great protective skirt of mail sewn onto leather and Thomas knew the broad-heads would never pierce it, and then he drew his arm back, the cord was past his ear and the first arrow flew. It wavered as it left the bow, then the air caught the goose-feather fledging and it sped low and fast to bury itself in the black horse's chest and Thomas had a second bodkin on the string, drew, loosed, and a third, drew and loosed and he saw the other arrows flying and was astonished, as ever, that the first arrows seemed to do so little damage. No horses were down, none even slowed, but there were feathered shafts jutting from trappers and armour and he pulled again, released, felt the string whip along the bracer on his left forearm, snatched up a new arrow, then saw the first horses go down. He heard the sound of metal and flesh crashing on the ground and he sent another bodkin at the big black horse and this one drove through the mail and leather to bury itself deep and the horse began frothing blood from its mouth and tossing its head, and Thomas sent his next arrow at the rider and saw it thump into the shield to throw the man back against his high cantle. Two horses were dying, their bodies forcing the other riders to swerve, and still the arrows came at them. A lance tumbled, skid ding along the ground. A dead man, three arrows in his chest, rode a frightened horse that veered across the line of the charge, throwing it into further confusion. Thomas shot again, using a broad-head now to cut down a horse at the rear of the group. One of Genevieve's arrows flew high. She was grinning, her eyes wide. Sam cursed as his cord broke, then stepped back to find another and string it to his bow. The big black horse had slowed to a walk and Thomas put another bodkin into its flank, burying the arrow just ahead of the rider's left knee.

Horses!" Sir Guillaume called to his men and Thomas knew the Norman reckoned the enemy would never reach his barrier and so had decided to charge them. Where was Robbie? Some of the enemy were turning away, going back to the river and Thomas sped four fast broad-heads at those faint hearts, then loosed a bodkin at the black horse's rider. The arrow glanced off the man's breastplate, then his horse stumbled and went down to its knees. A squire, the man holding the flag of Berat, came to help the rider and Thomas slammed a bodkin into the squire's neck, then two more arrows hit the man who bent backwards over his saddle's cantle and stayed there, dead with three arrows jutting skywards and his flag fallen.

Sir Guillaume's men were hauling themselves into their saddles, drawing swords, taking their places knee to knee, and just then Robbie's force came from the north. The charge was timed well, hitting the enemy at their most chaotic, and Robbie had the sense to charge close to the river, thus cutting off their retreat. Bows down!“ Thomas called. Bows down!” He did not want his arrows cutting into Robbie's men. He laid his bow by the hedge and drew his sword. It was time to overwhelm the enemy with pure savagery. Robbie's men hammered into Berat's horsemen with terrible force. They rode properly, knee to knee, and the shock of the men at-arms threw three enemy horses down. Swords chopped hard down, then each of Robbie's men picked an opponent. Robbie, shouting his war cry, kicked his horse towards Joscelyn. Douglas! Douglas!" Robbie was shouting, and Joscelyn was trying to stay in the saddle of a horse that was dying, that was down on its fore knees, and he heard the cry behind him and swept his sword wildly back, but Robbie met the blow on his shield and kept thrusting so that the shield, with its device of the Douglas red heart, struck a huge blow on Joscelyn's helm. Joscelyn had not strapped the helm down, knowing that in a tournament it often helped to take the big steel pot off at the end of a fight to see a half-beaten opponent better, so now it turned on his shoul ders, the cross-shaped eye slits vanished and he was in darkness. He flailed his sword into empty air, felt his balance going and then his whole world was a huge ringing blow of steel on steel and he could not see, could not hear, as Robbie thumped his helmet again with his sword.

Berat's men-at-arms were yielding, throwing down swords and offering gauntlets to their opponents. The archers were among them now, hauling men out of their saddles, and then Sir Guillaume's horsemen thundered past to pursue the handful of enemy trying to gallop out of trouble through the ford. Sir Guillaume backswung his sword as he overtook a laggard and the blow ripped the man's helmet clean off his head. The man following Sir Guillaume swept his sword forward and there was a burst of misting blood and the dead man's head went bouncing into the river as the headless body kept riding.

I yield, I yield!“ Joscelyn screamed in pure terror. I can be ransomed!” Those were the words that saved rich men's lives on battlefields and he shouted them again more urgently. I can be ransomed!“ His right leg was trapped under his horse, he was still blinded by his skewed helmet and all he could hear were thumping hooves, shouts and the screams of wounded men being killed by archers. Then, suddenly, he was dazzled by light as his dented helmet was pulled off and a man stood over him with a sword. I yield,” Joscelyn said hurriedly, then remembered his rank. Are you noble?"

I'm a Douglas of the house of Douglas/ the man said in bad French, and as well born as any in Scotland.“ Then I yield to you,” Joscelyn said despairingly, and he could have wept for all his dreams had been broken in one brief passage of arrows, terror and butchery.

Who are you?" Robbie asked.

I am the Lord of Beziers/ Joscelyn said, and heir to Berat." And Robbie whooped for joy.

Because he was rich.

The Count of Berat wondered if he should have ordered three or four of the men-at-arms to stay behind. It was not because he thought he needed protection, but rather it was his due to have an entourage and the departure of Joscelyn, Father Roubert and all the horsemen left him only his squire, one other servant and the serfs who were scrabbling at the earth to clear the mysterious wall which seemed, the Count thought, to be hiding a cave beneath the place where the chapel's altar had once stood.

He sneezed again, then felt light-headed so sat on a fallen block of stone.

Come by the fire, my lord/ his squire suggested. The squire was the son of a tenant from the northern part of the county and was a stolid, unimaginative seventeen-year-old who had shown no inclination to ride with Joscelyn to glory.

Fire?" The Count blinked up at the boy who was called Michel. We made a fire, lord/ Michel said, pointing to the far end of the vault where a small fire had been conjured from the splin tered lids of the coffins.

Tire/ the Count said, for some reason finding it hard to think straight. He sneezed and gasped for breath afterwards. It's a cold day, lord/ the boy explained, and the fire will make you feel better/

A fire/ the Count said, confused, then he discovered an unex pected reserve of energy. Of course! A fire! Well done, Michel. Make a torch and bring it/

Michel went to the fire and found a long piece of elmwood that was burning at one end and gingerly extracted it from the flames. He took it to the wall where the Count was feverishly pushing the serfs aside. At the very top of the wall; which was made from dressed stones, there was a small gap, no bigger than a sparrow would need, and the hole, through which the Count had peered excitedly but uselessly, seemed to lead into a cavern behind. The Count turned as Michel brought the torch. Give it here, give it here/ he said impatiently, then snatched the burning wood and fanned it to and fro to make it flare up. When the elm was burning fiercely, he thrust it into the hole and, to his delight, the wood slipped right through, confirming that there was a space behind; he pushed it inside until it dropped and then he stooped and put his right eye to the gap and stared.

The flames were already becoming feeble in the cavern's stale air, but they threw just enough light to reveal what lay beyond the wall. The Count stared and drew in a breath. Michel!“ he said. Michel! I can see . . .” Just then the flame guttered out. And the Count collapsed.

He slid down the ramp of earth, his face white and mouth open, and for a moment Michel thought his master had died, but then the Count gave a sigh. But he stayed unconscious. The serfs gaped at the squire who stared at the Count, then Michel gathered his few wits and ordered the men to carry the Count out of the vault. That was hard, for they had to manoeuvre his weight up the ladder, but once it was done a handcart was fetched from the village and they pushed the Count north to Saint Sever's monastery. The journey took almost an hour and the Count groaned once or twice and seemed to shiver, but he was still alive when the monks carried him into the infirmary where they placed him in a small white washed room equipped with a hearth in which a big fire was lit. Brother Ramon, a Spaniard who was the monastery's physician, brought a report to the abbot. The Count has a fever,“ he said, and a surplus of bile.”

Will he die?" Planchard asked.

Only if God wills it/ Brother Ramon said, which is what he always said when asked that question. We shall leech him and then attempt to sweat the fever away."

And you will pray for him," Planchard reminded Ramon, then he went back to Michel and learned that the Count's men-at-arms had ridden to attack the English in the valley of the River Gers. You will meet them on their return/ the abbot ordered Michel, and tell them their lord is struck down. Remind the Lord Joscelyn that a message must be sent to Berat/

Yes, lord.“ Michel looked worried by this responsibility. What was the Count doing when he fainted?” Planchard asked, and so heard about the strange wall beneath the castle chapel. Perhaps I should go back/ Michel suggested nervously, and find out what's behind the wall?"

You will leave that to me, Michel/ Planchard said sternly. Your only duty is to your master and his nephew. Now go and find Lord Joscelyn."

Michel rode to intercept Joscelyn's return and Planchard went in search of the serfs who had brought the Count to the monastery. They were waiting by the gate, expecting some reward, and they fell to their knees as Planchard approached. The abbot spoke first to the oldest man. Veric, how is your wife?"

She suffers, sir, she suffers."

Tell her she is in my prayers/ Planchard said truthfully. Listen, all of you, and listen well." He waited until they were all looking at him. What you will do now/ he told them sternly, is return to the castle and cover up the wall. Put the earth back. Seal it!

Do not dig further. Veric, you know what an encantada is?" Of course, lord/ Veric said, crossing himself.

The abbot bent close to the serf. If you do not cover the wall, Veric, then a plague of encantadas will come from the castle bowels and they will take your children, all of your children/ he looked along the line of kneeling men, they will rise up from the earth, snatch your children and dance them down to hell. So cover the wall. And when it is done, come back to me and I shall reward you.“ The monastery's poor box contained a few coins and Planchard would give them to the serfs. I trust you, Veric!” he finished. Dig no further, just cover up the wall." The serfs hurried to obey. Planchard watched them go and said a small prayer asking God to forgive him for telling an untruth. Planchard did not believe that enchanted demons lived under Astarac's old chapel, but he did know that whatever the Count had discovered should be hidden and the threat of the encantadas should suffice to make certain the work was properly done. Then, that small crisis resolved, Planchard went back to his room. When the Count had come to the monastery and caused a sudden excitement, the abbot had been reading a letter brought by a messenger just an hour before. The letter had come from a Cistercian house in Lombardy and now Planchard read it again and wondered whether he should tell the brethren about its dreadful contents. He decided not, then he dropped to his knees in prayer.

He lived, he thought, in an evil world.

And God's scourge had come to bring punishment. That was the message of the letter and Planchard could do little except pray. Fiat voluntas tua ,“ he said over and over again. Thy will be done.” And the terrible thing, Planchard thought, was that God's will was being done.

The first thing was to recover as many arrows as possible. Arrows were scarce as hens“ teeth in Gascony. In England, or in England's territory in France, there were always spare arrows. They were made in the shires, bundled into sheaves of twenty-four, and sent wherever archers fought, but here, far from any other English garrison, Thomas's men needed to hoard their missiles and so they went from corpse to corpse collecting the precious arrows. Most of the broad-heads were sunk deep in horseflesh and those heads were mostly lost, but the arrow shafts pulled out cleanly enough and all archers carried spare heads in their pouches. Some men cut into the corpses to retrieve the broad-heads. Other arrows had missed and just lay on the turf and the archers laughed about those. One of your points here, Sam!” Jake called. Missed by a bloody mile!"

That's not mine. Must be Genny's."

Tom!“ Jake had seen the two pigs across the river. Can I get supper?”

Arrows first, Jake/ Thomas said, 'supper afterwards." He bent to a dead horse and cut into the flesh in an attempt to retrieve a broad-head. Sir Guillaume was scavenging pieces of armour, unbuckling greaves and espaliers and chausses from dead men. Another man-at-arms hauled a mail coat from a corpse. Archers were carrying armfuls of swords. Ten enemy horses were either unwounded or so lightly injured as to be worth keeping. The others were dead or else in such pain that Sam despatched them with a battle-axe blow to the forehead.

It was as complete a victory as Thomas could have wished and, better still, Robbie had captured the man Thomas took to be the enemy leader. He was a tall man with a round, angry face that was shining with sweat. He's the heir to Berat/ Robbie called as Thomas approached, and his uncle wasn't here.“ Joscelyn glanced at Thomas and, seeing his bloody hands and the bow and arrow bag, reckoned him a man of no worth and so looked at Sir Guillaume instead. Do you lead here?” he demanded. Sir Guillaume gestured at Thomas. He does."

Joscelyn seemed bereft of words. He watched, appalled, as his wounded men-at-arms were plundered. At least his own two men, Villesisle and his companion, were both alive, but neither had been able to i fight with their accustomed ferocity for the arrows had killed their horses. One of Joscelyn's uncle's men had lost his right hand, another was dying from an arrow in his belly. Joscelyn tried to count the living and dead and reckoned that only six or seven of his men had managed to escape across the ford.

The beghard was plundering with the rest. Joscelyn spat when he realized who she was, then made the sign of the cross, but he went on staring at Genevieve in her silver mail. She was, he thought, as beautiful a creature as he had ever seen. She's spoken for/ Sir Guillaume said drily, seeing where Joscelyn was looking.

So what are you worth?“ Thomas asked Joscelyn. My uncle will pay a great deal/ Joscelyn answered stiffly, still not sure that Thomas really was the enemy commander. He was even less sure that his uncle would pay a ransom, but he did not want to suggest that to his captors, nor tell them that his lordship of Beziers would be fortunate to scrape up more than a handful of ecus. Beziers was a dirt-poor collection of shacks in Picardy and would be lucky to ransom a captured goat. He looked back at Genevieve, marvelling at her long legs and bright hair. You had the devil's help in beating us,” he said bitterly. In battle,“ Thomas said, it's good to have powerful friends.” He turned to where the ground was horrid with bodies. Hurry up!“ he called to his men. We want to be home before midnight!” The men were in a fine mood. They would all have a share of Joscelyn's ransom, even though Robbie would take the greater part, and some of the lesser prisoners would yield a few coins. In addition they had taken helmets, weapons, shields, swords and horses, and only two men-at-arms had received so much as a scratch. It was a good afternoon's work, and they laughed as they retrieved their horses, loaded the captured beasts with plunder, and readied to leave.

And just then a single horseman came across the ford. Sir Guillaume saw him first and called to Thomas who turned and saw it was a priest who approached. The man had black and white robes, suggesting he was a Dominican. Don't shoot!“ Thomas called to his men. Bows down! Down!” He walked towards the priest who was mounted on a small mare. Genevieve was already in her saddle, but now she jumped down and hurried to catch up with Thomas.

His name,“ Genevieve said softly, is Father Roubert.” Her face was white and her tone bitter.

The man who tortured you?" Thomas asked.

The bastard," she said, and Thomas suspected she was fighting back tears; he knew how she was feeling for he had known the same humiliation at the hands of a torturer. He remembered pleading with his torturer and the shame of being so utterly abased to another person. He remembered the gratitude when the pain stopped.

Father Roubert curbed his horse some twenty paces from Thomas and looked at the scattered dead. Have they been shriven?" he asked.

No/ Thomas said, but if you want to shrive them, priest, then do it. And afterwards go back to Berat and tell the Count we have his nephew and will negotiate a ransom." He had nothing else to say to the Dominican so he took Genevieve's elbow and turned away.

Are you Thomas of Hookton?“ Father Roubert asked. Thomas turned back. What is it to you?”

You have cheated hell of a soul,“ the priest said, and if you do not yield it then I shall demand yours as well.” Genevieve took the bow from her shoulder. You'll be in hell before me," she called to Roubert.

The friar ignored her, speaking to Thomas instead. She is the devil's creature, Englishman, and she has bewitched you.“ His mare twitched and he slapped her neck irritably. The Church has made its decision and you must submit.”

I've made my decision/ Thomas said.

Father Roubert raised his voice so that the men behind Thomas could hear him. She is a beghard!" he called. She is a heretic!

She has been excommunicated, cast out of God's holy precincts, and as such she is a doomed soul! There can be no salvation for her and none for any man who helps her! You hear me? It is God's Church on earth that talks to you, and your immortal souls, all your immortal souls, are in dire peril because of her.“ He looked back to Genevieve and could not resist a bitter smile. You will die, bitch/ he said, in earthly flames that will usher you to the eternal fires of hell.”

Genevieve raised her small bow which had a broad-head on the string. Don't/ Thomas said to her.

He is my torturer/ Genevieve said, tears on her cheeks. Father Roubert sneered at her bow. You are the devil's whore/ he told her, and worms will inhabit your womb and your breasts will give forth pus and the demons will play with you." Genevieve loosed the arrow.

She snatched at the shot. She did not aim. Anger made her pluck the cord far back and then she loosed and her eyes were so filled with tears that she could hardly see Father Roubert. In prac tice her arrows had usually flown madly wide, but at the very last moment, just as she loosed, Thomas tried to knock her arm away; he barely touched her, just tapped her bow hand, and the arrow twitched as it leaped from the string. Father Roubert had been about to insult her toy bow, but instead the arrow flew true and struck him. The broad, tanged head slashed into the priest's throat and the arrow stayed there, its white feathers turning red as blood poured down the shaft. For a heartbeat the priest sat in the saddle, a look of utter astonishment on his face, then a second great gout of blood spurted out over his horse's ears, he made a choking sound and fell hard to the ground.

By the time Thomas reached him the priest was dead. I told you he'd go to hell first," Genevieve said, then spat on the corpse.

Thomas made the sign of the cross.

There should have been jubilation after the easy victory, but the old mood, the sullen mood, returned to haunt the garrison at Castillon d'Arbizon. They had done well in the fight, but the death of the priest had horrified Thomas's men. Most of them were unre pentant sinners, some had even killed priests themselves, but they were all superstitious and the friar's death was regarded as an evil omen. Father Roubert had ridden forward unarmed, he came to parley, and he had been shot down like a dog. A few men applauded Genevieve. She was a proper woman, they said, a soldier's woman, and the Church could be damned for all they cared, but those men were a small minority. Most of the garrison recalled the priest's last words that had damned their own souls for the sin of harbouring a heretic, and those harsh threats brought back the fears that had haunted them when Genevieve's life was first spared. Robbie propounded that view relentlessly and, when Thomas chal lenged him by asking when the Scot planned to ride to Bologna, Robbie brushed the question off. I'm staying here,“ he said, till I know what ransom I'm getting. I'm not riding away from his money.” He jerked a thumb at Joscelyn who had learned of the antagonism inside the garrison and did his best to encourage it by forecasting dire things if the beghard was not burned. He refused to eat at the same table as Genevieve. As a nobleman he was enti tled to the best treatment the castle could offer and he slept in a room of his own at the top of the tower, but rather than eat in the hall he preferred to take his meals with Robbie and the men at-arms and he beguiled them with tales of his tournaments and scared them with dire warnings of what happened to men who protected the enemies of the Church.

Thomas offered Robbie almost all the money in his keeping as his share of Joscelyn's ransom, the final amount to be adjusted when that ransom was negotiated, but Robbie refused it. You might end up owing me far more/ he claimed, and how do I know you'll pay it? And how will you know where I am?“ I'll send it to your family,” Thomas promised. You trust me, don't you?"

The Church doesn't,“ was Robbie's bitter answer, 'so why should I?”

Sir Guillaume tried to ease the tension, but he knew the garrison was falling apart. A fight broke out in the lower hall one night between Robbie's supporters and the men who defended Genevieve, and at the end of it one Englishman was dead and a Gascon had lost an eye to a dagger. Sir Guillaume thumped heads hard, but he knew there would be other fights.

What do you propose to do about it?" he asked Thomas a week after the skirmish by the River Gers. The air was cold from a north wind, the wind that men believed made them dull and irritable. Sir Guillaume and Thomas were on the keep's battlements, beneath the Earl of Northampton's fading banner. And beneath that red and green flag hung the orange leopard of Berat, but upside down to show the world that the standard had been captured in battle. Genevieve was there too, but sensing that she did not want to hear what Sir Guillaume had come to say she had gone to the farthest corner of the ramparts.

Til wait here," Thomas said.

Because your cousin will come?"

That's why I'm here," Thomas said.

And suppose you have no men left?“ Sir Guillaume asked. Thomas said nothing for a while. Eventually he broke the silence. You too?”

I'm with you,“ Sir Guillaume said, fool that you are. But if your cousin comes, Thomas, he won't come alone.” I know."

And he won't be as foolish as Joscelyn was. He won't give you a victory."

I know." Thomas's voice was bleak.

You need more men,“ Sir Guillaume said. We have a garrison; we need a small army.”

Tt would help," Thomas agreed.

But no one will come while she's here,“ Sir Guillaume warned, glancing at Genevieve. And three of the Gascons left yesterday.” The three men-at-arms had not even waited for their share of Joscelyn's ransom, but had simply ridden away westwards in search of other employment.

I don't want cowards here," Thomas retorted.

Oh, don't be such a damned fool!“ Sir Guillaume snapped. Your men will fight other men, Thomas, but they won't fight the Church. They won't fight God.” He paused, evidently reluctant to say what ever was on his mind, but then took the plunge. You have to send her away, Thomas. She has to go."

Thomas stared at the southern hills. He said nothing. She has to go,“ Sir Guillaume repeated. Send her to Pau. Bordeaux. Anywhere.”

If I do that/ Thomas said, then she dies. The Church will find her and burn her."

Sir Guillaume stared at him. You're in love, aren't you?" Yes/ Thomas said.

Jesus goddamned Christ/ Sir Guillaume said in exasperation. Love! It always leads to trouble."

Man is born to it/ Thomas said, as the sparks fly upwards.“ Maybe/ Sir Guillaume said grimly, but it's women who provide the bloody kindling.”

And just then Genevieve called to them. Horsemen!“ she warned, and Thomas ran across the ramparts and stared down the eastern road and saw that sixty or seventy horsemen were emerging from the woods. They were men-at-arms wearing the orange and white jupons of Berat and at first Thomas assumed they were coming to offer a ransom for Joscelyn, then he saw that they flew a strange banner, not the leopard of Berat, but a Church banner like those carried in processions on holy days. It hung from a cross-staff and showed the blue gown of the Virgin Mary and behind it, on smaller horses, were a score of churchmen. Sir Guillaume made the sign of the cross. Trouble/ he said curtly, then turned on Genevieve. No arrows! You hear me, girl? No damn arrows!”

Sir Guillaume ran down the steps and Genevieve looked at Thomas. I'm sorry," she said.

For killing the priest? Damn the bastard."

1 rather think they've come to damn us,“ Genevieve said, and she went with Thomas to the side of the battlements that over looked Castillon d'Arbizon's main street, the west gate and the bridge across the river beyond. The armed horsemen waited outside the town while the clergy dismounted and, preceded by their banner, trooped up the main street towards the castle. Most of the churchmen were in black, but one was in a white cope, had a mitre and carried a white staff topped with a golden crook. A bishop, no less. He was a plump man with long white hair that escaped from beneath the golden hem of his mitre. He ignored the townsfolk who knelt to him as he called up to the castle. Thomas!” he shouted. Thomas!"

What will you do?" Genevieve asked.

Listen to him," Thomas said.

He led her down to the smaller bastion above the gate that was already crowded with archers and men-at-arms. Robbie was there and, as Thomas appeared, the Scotsman pointed at him and called down to the bishop, This is Thomas!"

The bishop struck his staff on the ground. In the name of God,“ he called out, the all-powerful Father, and in the name of the Son, and in the name of the Holy Ghost, and in the name of all the saints, and in the name of our Holy Father, Clement, and by virtue of the power which has been granted us to loose and to bind in heaven as it is loosed and bound upon earth, I summon you, Thomas! I summon you!”

The bishop had a fine voice. It carried clearly, and the only other sound, except for the wind, was the murmur as a handful of Thomas's men translated the French into English for the benefit of the archers. Thomas had assumed that the bishop would speak in Latin and that he alone would know what was being said, but the bishop wanted everyone to understand his words. It is known that you, Thomas/ the bishop resumed, 'some time baptised in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, have fallen from the society of Christ's body by committing the sin of giving comfort and shelter to a condemned heretic and murderer. So now, with grief in our heart, we deprive you, Thomas, as we will deprive all your accomplices and supporters, of the communion of the body and the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ.“ He banged his staff on the ground again and one of the priests rang a small handbell. We separate you/ the bishop went on, his voice echoing from the castle's high keep, from the society of all Christians and we exclude you from all holy precincts/ Again the staff struck the cobbles and the bell rang. We banish you from the bosom of our holy mother the Church in heaven and upon earth.” The bell's clear tone echoed back from the keep's stones. We declare you, Thomas, to be excommunicated and we judge you to be condemned to eternal fire with Satan and all his angels and all the reprobates. We pronounce you accursed in this wicked fact and we charge all those who favour and love our Lord Jesus Christ to hold you for punishment." He thumped his staff a last time, glared defiantly at Thomas and then turned away, followed by the priests and their banner.

And Thomas felt numb. Cold and numb. Empty. It was as though the foundations of the earth had vanished to leave an aching void above the blazing gates of hell. All the certainties of life, of God, of salvation, of eternity, were gone, had been blown away like the fallen leaves rustling in the town's gutters. He had been changed into a true hellequin, excommunicated, cut off from the mercy, the love and the company of God.

You heard the bishop!“ Robbie broke the silence on the rampart. We're charged to arrest Thomas or else share his damnation.” And he put his hand on his sword and would have drawn it if Sir Guillaume had not intervened.

Enough!“ the Norman shouted. Enough! I am second-in command here. Does anyone dispute that?” The archers and men at-arms had drawn away from Thomas and Genevieve, but no one intervened on Robbie's behalf. Sir Guillaume's scarred face was grim as death. The sentries will stay on duty/ he ordered, the rest of you to your quarters. Now!"

We have a duty . . ." Robbie began and then involuntarily stepped back as Sir Guillaume turned on him in fury. Robbie was no coward, but no one could have withstood Sir Guillaume's anger at that moment.

The men went reluctantly, but they went, and Sir Guillaume slammed home his half-drawn sword. He's right, of course," he said gloomily as Robbie went down the steps.

He was my friend!" Thomas protested, trying to hold on to one piece of certainty in a world turned inside out.

And he wants Genevieve,“ Sir Guillaume said, and because he can't have her he's persuaded himself his soul is doomed. Why do you think the bishop didn't excommunicate all of us? Because then we'd all be in the same hell with nothing to lose. He divided us, the blessed and the damned, and Robbie wants his soul to be safe. Can you blame him?”

What about you?" Genevieve asked the Norman.

My soul withered years ago,“ Sir Guillaume said grimly, then he turned and gazed down the main street. They'll be leaving men-at-arms outside the town to take you when you leave. But you can go out by the small gate behind Father Medous's house. They won't be guarding that, and you can cross the river at the mill. You'll be safe enough in the woods.”

For a moment Thomas did not comprehend what Sir Guillaume was saying, then it struck him with awful force that he was being told to go. To run. To hide. To leave his first command, to abandon his new wealth, his men, everything. He stared at Sir Guillaume, who shrugged. You can't stay, Thomas,“ the older man said gently. Robbie or one of his friends will kill you. My guess is that a score of us would support you, but if you stay it will be a fight between us and them and they'll win.”

You'll stay here?"

Sir Guillaume looked uncomfortable, then nodded. I know why you came here/ he said. I don't believe the damn thing exists nor, if it does, do I think we have a cat's chance of finding it. But we can make money here, and I need money so, yes, I'm staying. But you're going, Thomas. Go west. Find an English garrison. Go home.“ He saw the reluctance on Thomas's face. What in Christ's name else can you do?” he demanded. Thomas said nothing and Sir Guillaume glanced at the soldiers waiting beyond the town gate. You can take the heretic to them, Thomas, and give her over to the burning. They'll lift your excommunication then.“ I won't do that,” Thomas said fiercely.

Take her down to the soldiers,“ Sir Guillaume said, and kneel to the bishop.”

No!"

Why not?"

You know why not."

Because you love her?"

Yes,“ Thomas said, and Genevieve took his arm. She knew he was suffering, just as she had suffered when the Church withdrew the love of God from her, but she had come to terms with the horror. Thomas had not and she knew it would take him time. We shall survive,” she said to Sir Guillaume. But you must leave," the Norman insisted.

I know,“ Thomas could not keep the heartbreak from his voice. I'll bring you supplies tomorrow,” Sir Guillaume promised. Horses, food, cloaks. What else do you need?“ Arrows,” Genevieve said promptly, then she looked at Thomas as if expecting him to add something, but he was still too shocked to think properly. You'll want your father's writings, won't you?" she suggested gently.

Thomas nodded. Wrap them up for me?“ he asked Sir Guillaume. Wrap them in leather.”

Tomorrow morning, then/ Sir Guillaume said. Wait by the hollow chestnut on the hill/

Sir Guillaume escorted them out of the castle, through the back alleys behind the priest's house to where a small door had been let through the town wall to give access to a path which led to the watermill on the river. Sir Guillaume shot the bolts and opened the gate warily, but no soldiers waited outside and so he led them down to the mill and there he watched as Thomas and Genevieve crossed the stone sill of the mill pond. From there they climbed into the woods.

Thomas had failed. And he was damned.