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.
