pluck his arm insistently, then smile with genuine pleasure when Thomas indulged him. Genevieve came with him on the day after the bone-setter had made her scream. She could walk well enough, though she was still weak and could scarcely move her left arm. Yet the arrow had missed her lungs and that, Thomas decided, was why she had lived. That and Brother Clement's care. I thought I was going to die. she confessed to Thomas.
He remembered the coming plague. He had heard no more about it and, for the moment, he did not tell Genevieve. You won't die. he told her, but you must move the arm.“ I can't. It hurts.”
You must. he said. When his own arms and hands had been scarred by the torturer he had thought he would never use them again, but his friends, Robbie chief among them, had forced him to practise with the bow. It had seemed hopeless at first, yet little by little the ability had come back. He wondered where Robbie was now, whether he had stayed at Castillon d'Arbizon, and that thought frightened him. Would Robbie seek him here at Astarac? Had friendship really turned to hate? And if not Robbie, who else might come? The news of his presence in the monastery would spread in the unseen way such news always did, tales told in taverns, pedlars carrying the gossip from one village to the next, and soon enough someone in Berat would take notice. We have to go soon,' he told Genevieve.
Where?'
A long way away. England, perhaps?' He knew he had failed. He would not find the Grail here and, even if his cousin did come, how could Thomas defeat him? He was one man with only a wounded woman to help him and Guy Vexille travelled with a whole conroi of men-at-arms. The dream was over and it was time to go.
I'm told it's cold in England. Genevieve said.
The sun always shines. Thomas said gravely, the harvest never fails and fish jump straight from the rivers into the frying pan. Genevieve smiled. Then you must teach me English.
You know some already.
I know goddamn. she said, and I know goddamn bloody, bloody goddamn and Christ goddamn bloody help us.
Thomas laughed. You've learned archers' English. he said, but I'll teach you the rest.
He decided they would leave next day. He made a bundle of his arrows, then he cleaned the caked blood from Genevieve's coat of mail. He borrowed a pair of pincers from the monastery's carpenter and did his best to mend the mail where the crossbow bolt had pierced it, bending and closing the shattered links until at least they were crudely joined, though the rent was still obvious. He tethered the horses in the olive grove to let them graze and then, because it was still early in the afternoon, he walked south to the castle. He was determined to have one last glimpse of the stronghold where his ancestors had been lords. He met Philin as he left the monastery. The coredor had brought his son from the infirmary and, with the boy's leg firmly splinted with a half-dozen of the chestnut stakes used to hold the monastery's vines, he had put him on a horse and was leading him southwards. I don't want to stay here too long,“ he told Thomas. I'm still wanted for murder.”
Tlanchard would give you sanctuary. Thomas insisted. He would,' Philin agreed, but that wouldn't stop my wife's family sending men to kill me. We're safer in the hills. His leg will mend there as well as anywhere. And if you're looking for refuge . . .
Me?' Thomas was surprised by the offer.
We can always use a good archer.'
I think I'll go home. Home to England.'
God look after you anyway, my friend,' Philin said, then he struck off to the west and Thomas walked south through the village where some of the folk made the sign of the cross which was evidence enough that they knew who he was, but none tried to take revenge on him for the harm his men had caused. They might have wanted such a revenge, but he was tall, strong and wearing a long sword at his belt. He climbed the path to the ruins and noticed that three men had followed him. He paused to face them, but they made no hostile move, just watched him from a safe distance.
It was a good place for a castle, Thomas thought. Certainly better than Castillon d'Arbizon. Astarac's stronghold was built on a crag and could only be approached by the narrow path he had climbed to the broken gate. Once past the gate the crag had originally been topped by a curtain wall encircling the courtyard, though that was now nothing more than heaps of mossy stone that were never higher than a man's waist. An oblong of broken walls with a semi circular extension at their eastern end showed where the chapel had been and Thomas, walking the wide flagstones beneath which his ancestors were buried, saw that those stones had been disturbed recently. Raw marks betrayed where they had been prised up. He thought of trying to raise one of the flagstones himself, but knew he had neither the time nor the tools, and so he walked on to the western side of the crag where the old keep had stood, a broken tower now, hollow to the wind and rain. He turned when he reached the old tower and saw how his three followers had lost interest in him when he left the chapel. Were they there to guard something? The Grail? That thought seethed like a bolt of fire in his veins, but then he dismissed it. There was no Grail, he thought. It was his father's madness that had touched him with its hopeless dream. A shattered stair was built into one flank of the tower and Thomas took it as far as he could climb, which was only to where the missing first floor had spanned the hollow shaft. There was a great gaping hole in the tower wall there, a wall that was over five feet thick, and Thomas could walk into the space. He stared down the valley, following the line of the stream with his eyes and he tried once more to feel some sense of belonging. He tried to snare the echoes of his ancestors, but there was nothing. He had felt emotion when he went back to Hookton, the little of it that remained, but here, nothing. And the thought that Hookton, like this castle, was in ruins made him wonder if there was a curse on the Vexilles. The country folk here claimed that dragas, the devil's women, left flowers where they walked, but did the Vexilles leave ruins? Maybe the Church was right after all. Maybe he deserved to be excommunicated. He turned to look west in the direction he must travel if he was to go home.
And saw the horsemen.
They were on the western ridge, way to the north of him, coming, he thought, from the direction of Berat. There was a large band of them, and they were soldiers right enough for what had caught his eye was the glint of light reflecting from a helmet or mail coat.
He stared, not wanting to believe what he saw, and then, coming to his senses, he ran. He went down the stairs, across the weed thick courtyard, out through the ruined gate where he barged past the three men, and then down the path. He ran through the village and then northwards and he was out of breath by the time he banged on the gate of the lazar house. Brother Clement opened it and Thomas pushed past him. Soldiers,“ he said in curt expla nation, then he went into the hut and picked up his bow, the bundled arrows, their cloaks and mail and bags. Come quick. he told Genevieve, who was carefully ladling some of Brother Clement's newly gathered honey into small jars. Don't ask. he told her, just come. Bring the saddles.”
They went back outside to the olive grove, but Thomas, looking around, saw soldiers on the road in the valley north of Saint Sever's. Those men were still some way off, but if they saw two people riding from the monastery they would be bound to follow, which meant there could be no escape now, just concealment. He hesitated, thinking. What is it?' Genevieve asked.
Soldiers. Probably from Berat.'
There, too. She was looking south, towards the castle, and Thomas saw the villagers hurrying towards the monastery for refuge and that surely meant there were armed men approaching their houses.
He swore. Leave the saddles. he told her and, when she had dropped them, he pulled her round the back of the monastery, following the lepers' path to the church. Someone had begun to toll the monastery bell to warn the brethren that armed strangers had come to their valley.
And Thomas knew why. Knew that if they were found they would both burn in the holy fire and so he ran into the lepers'
part of the church and climbed the short flight of stairs to the window that overlooked the altar. He pushed his bow through, sent the arrows after it, then the rest of the baggage, and clambered up himself. It was a tight fit, but he squeezed through and dropped clumsily and painfully onto the flagstones. Come on!' he urged Genevieve. People were coming into the church, thronging the door at the far end of the nave.
Genevieve hissed with pain as she scrambled through the small window. She looked frightened at the drop, but Thomas was beneath and he caught her. This way. He picked up his bow and bags and led her down the side of the choir and then behind the side altar where the statue of Saint Benedict stared sadly towards the frightened villagers.
The door in the alcove was locked as Thomas expected it to be, but they were hidden here and he did not
