brains. It had a long, needle like head, and that suggested it was English, then he looked at the fledging. Did you know,” he said to his men, that the English only use feathers from one wing of a goose?“ He stroked the damp feathers, which were held in place by twine and by glue that had a greenish tinge. Either the right wing,” he said, or the left, doesn't matter, but you don't mix feathers from both wings on one arrow.' He suddenly snapped the arrow in a surge of frustration. Goddamn it! It was an English arrow and that meant Thomas had been here, so damned close, and now was gone. But where?
One of his men proposed riding westwards to rake the valley of the Gers, but Vexille snarled at the suggestion. He's no fool. He'll be miles away by now. Miles.“ Or perhaps he was just yards away, watching from among the trees or from the rocky heights of the crag, and Vexille stared into the woods and tried to put himself into Thomas's place. Would he run back to England? But why would he ever have come here in the first place? Thomas had been excommunicated, thrown out from his companions, sent into the wilderness, but instead of fleeing home to England he had come east to Astarac. But there was nothing in Astarac now. It had been harrowed, so where would Thomas go? Guy Vexille looked into the caves, but they were empty. Thomas was gone. Vexille returned to the monastery. It was time to leave and he went there to gather the rest of his men. Charles Bessieres had also assembled his few soldiers who were mounted on horses heavy with plunder. And where are you going?” Vexille asked him. Wherever you go, my lord,“ Bessieres said with sarcastic courtesy, to help you find the Englishman. So where do we look?” He asked the question caustically, knowing that Guy Vexille had no ready answer.
Vexille said nothing. The rain still fell steadily, turning the roads into quagmires. On the northern road, that led eventually to Youlouse, a group of travellers had appeared. They were all on foot, thirty or forty of them, and it was apparent that they were coming to seek shelter and help from the monastery. They looked like fugitives for they were pushing four handcarts loaded with chests and bundles. Three old people, too weak to struggle through the cloying mud, were riding on the carts. Some of Bessieres's men, hoping for more easy plunder, were spurring towards them and Guy Vexille headed them off. The folk, seeing Vexille's lacquered armour and the prancing yale on his shield, knelt in the mud. Where are you going?' Vexille demanded.
To the monastery, lord,' one of the men said, hauling off his hat and bowing his head.
And where are you from?'
The man said they were from the valley of the Garonne, two days' journey to the east, and further questioning elicited that they were four craftsmen and their families: a carpenter, a saddler, a wheelwright and a mason, all from the same town.
Is there trouble there?“ Vexille wanted to know. He doubted it would concern him, for Thomas would surely not have travelled eastwards, but anything strange was of interest to him. There is a plague, lord,” the man said. People are dying.' There's always plague. Vexille said dismissively.
Not like this, lord. the man said humbly. He claimed that hundreds, maybe thousands, were dying and these families, at the very first onslaught of the contagion, had decided to flee. Others were doing the same, the man said, but most had gone north to Youlouse while these four families, all friends, had decided to look to the southern hills for their safety.
You should have stayed. Vexille said, and taken refuge in a church.'
The church is filled with the dead, lord. the man said, and Vexille turned away in impatience. Some disease in the Garonne was not his business, and if common folk panicked, that was nothing unusual. He snarled at Charles Bessieres's men to leave the fugitives alone, and Bessieres snapped back, saying that they were wasting their time. Your Englishman's gone. he sneered. Vexille heard the sneer, but ignored it. Instead, he paused a moment, then gave Charles Bessieres the courtesy of taking him seriously. You're right. he said, but gone where?“ Bessieres was taken aback by the mild tone. He leaned on his saddle pommel and stared at the monastery as he thought about the question. He was here. he said eventually, he went, so presumably he found what he wanted?”
Vexille shook his head. He ran from us, that's why he went.“ So why didn't we see him?” Bessieres asked belligerently. The rain dripped from the broad metal brim of his sallet, a piece of armour he had adopted to keep his head dry. But he's gone, and taken whatever he found with him. And where would you go if you were him?'
Home.
Long way. Bessieres said. And his woman's wounded. If I was him I'd find friends and find them fast.'
Vexille stared at the grim Charles Bessieres and wondered why he was being so unusually helpful. Friends,“ Vexille repeated. Castillon d'Arbizon,” Charles Bessieres spelled it out. They threw him out!' Vexille protested.
That was then,“ Bessieres said, but what choices does he have now?” In truth Charles Bessieres had no idea whether Thomas would go to Castillon d'Arbizon, but it was the most obvious solution, and Charles had decided he needed to find the Englishman fast. Only then, when he was certain that no true Grail had been discovered, could he reveal the fake chalice. But if he hasn't gone to his friends,“ he added, he's certainly going west towards the other English garrisons.”
Then we'll cut him off,' Vexille said. He was not convinced that Thomas would go to Castillon d'Arbizon, but his cousin would surely go west, and now Vexille had a new worry, one put there by Bessieres, that Thomas had found what he sought. The Grail could be lost and the scent was cold, but the hunt must go on.
They all rode west.
In the dark the rain came like vengeance from heaven. A down pour that thrashed on the trees and dripped to the floor of the wood and soaked the fugitives and lowered their already low spirits. In one brief passage of unexpected violence the coredors had been broken apart, their leader killed and their winter encampment ruined. Now, in the utter blackness of the autumn night, they were lost, unprotected and frightened.
Thomas and Genevieve were among them. Genevieve spent much of the night doubled over, trying to contain the pain of her left shoulder that had been exacerbated when the coredors tried and failed to strip her of the mail shirt, but when the first thin, damp light showed a path through the trees she stood and followed Thomas as he went westwards. At least a score of the coredors followed, including Philin, who was still carrying his son on his shoulders. Where are you going?“ Philin asked Thomas. Castillon d'Arbizon. Thomas said. And where are you going?” Philin ignored the question, walking in silence for a few paces, then he frowned. I'm sorry,' he said.
What for?'
I was going to cut your fingers off.'
Didn't have much choice, did you?'
I could have fought Destral.'
Thomas shook his head. You can't fight men like that. They love fighting, feed on it. He'd have slaughtered you and I'd still have lost my fingers.'
I'm sorry, though.'
They had worked their way across the highest part of the ridge and now could see the grey rain slashing all across the valley ahead, and across the next ridge and further valley. Thomas wanted to look at the landscape ahead before they descended the slope and so he ordered them all to rest, and Philin put his son down. Thomas turned to the tall man. What did your boy say to you when he offered you the knife?'
Philin frowned as if he did not want to answer, then shrugged. He told me to cut off your fingers.'
Thomas hit Galdric hard across the head, making the boy's head ring and prompting a cry of pain. Thomas slapped him a second time, hard enough to hurt his own hand. Tell him,“ Thomas said, to pick fights with people his own size.”
Galdric began crying, Philin said nothing and Thomas looked back to the valley ahead. He could see no horsemen there, no riders on the roads or mailed soldiers patrolling the wet pastures, and so he led the group on downwards. I heard,“ Philin spoke nervously, his son back on his shoulders, that the Count of Berat's men are besieging Castillon d'Arbizon?”
I heard the same,' Thomas said curtly.
You think it's safe to go there?'
Probably not,“ Thomas said, but there's food in the castle, and warmth and friends.”
You could walk farther west?“ Philin suggested. I came here for something,” Thomas said, and I haven't got it.“ He had come for his cousin, and Guy Vexille was close; Thomas knew he could not double back on Astarac and face him because Vexille's mounted men-at-arms held all the advantages in open country, but there was a small chance in Castillon d'Arbizon. A chance, at least, if Sir Guillaume was in command and Thomas's friends were the men making up the shrunken garrison. And at least he would be back among archers, and so long as he had them by his side he believed he could offer his cousin a fight to remember. The rain poured on as they crossed the valley
