of the Gers, and became even harder as they climbed the next ridge through thick chestnuts. Some of the coredors fell behind, but most kept up with Thomas's quick pace. Why are they following me?” Thomas asked Philin. Why are you following me?'
We need food and warmth too,“ Philin said. Like a dog that had lost its master he had attached himself to Thomas and Genevieve, and the other coredors were following him, and so Thomas stopped on the ridge's top and stared at them. They were a band of thin, ragged, hungry and beaten men, with a handful of bedraggled women and miserable children. You can come with me,” he said, and waited for Philin to translate, but if we get to Castillon d'Arbizon you become soldiers. Proper soldiers! You'll have to fight. Fight proper. Not skulk in the woods and run away when it gets hard. If we get into the castle you'll have to help defend it, and if you can't face that, then go away now.“ He watched them as Philin interpreted. most looked sheepish, but none turned away. They were either brave, Thomas thought, or so hopeless that they could think of no alternative but to follow him. He walked on towards the next valley. Genevieve, her hair plastered to her skull, kept pace with him. How will we get into the castle?” she asked.
Same way I did before. Across the weir and up to the wall.“ They won't guard that?”
Thomas shook his head. Too close to the ramparts. If they put men on that slope they'll be picked off by archers. One by bloody one.' Which did not mean that the besiegers might not have occupied the mill, but he would face that problem once he reached
Castillon d'Arbizon.
And when we're inside?“ she asked. What then?” I don't know,' Thomas said honestly.
She touched his hand as if to indicate that she was not criticizing, but merely curious. It seems to me,' she said, that you are like a hunted wolf, and you're going back to your lair. True. Thomas said.
And the huntsmen will know you are there. They will trap you.' Also true. Thomas said.
Then why?' she asked.
He did not answer for a while, then he shrugged and tried to tell her the truth. Because I've been beaten. he said, because they killed Planchard, because I've got nothing to bloody lose, because if I'm on those ramparts with a bow then I can kill some of them. And I bloody will. I'll kill Joscelyn; I'll kill my cousin.“ He slapped the yew shaft, which was unstrung to preserve the cord from the rain. I'll kill them both. I'm an archer, and a bloody good one, and I'd rather be that than a fugitive.” And Robbie? You'll kill him?'
Maybe. Thomas said, unwilling to consider the question. So the wolf. she said, will kill the hounds? Then die?“ Probably. Thomas said. But I'll be with friends.” That was important. Men he had brought to Gascony were under siege and, if they would take him back, he would stay with them to the end. And you don't have to come. he added to Genevieve. You goddamn fool. she said, her anger matching his. When I was going to die, you came. You think I will leave you now? Besides, remember what I saw under the thunder.“ Darkness and a point of light. Thomas smiled in grim amusement. You think we'll win?” he asked. Maybe. I do know I'm on God's side now, whatever the Church thinks. My enemies killed Planchard and that means they're doing the devil's work.“ They were going downhill, coming towards the end of the trees and the first of the vineyards and Thomas paused to search the landscape ahead. The coredors straggled in behind him, dropping exhausted on the wet forest floor. Seven carried crossbows, the rest had a variety of weapons, or none at all. One woman, red haired and snub-nosed, carried a falchion, a broad-bladed, curved sword, and she looked as if she knew how to use it. Why are we stopping?” Philin asked, though he was grateful for the respite because his son was a heavy burden. To look for the hunters. Thomas said, and he stared a long time at the vineyards, meadows and small woods. A stream glinted between two pastures. There was no one in sight. There were no serfs digging ditches or herding pigs towards the chestnuts and that was worrying. Why would serfs stay home? Only because there were armed men around and Thomas looked for them. There. Genevieve said, pointing, and to the north, by a bend in the glistening stream, Thomas saw a horseman in the shadow of a willow.
So the hunters were waiting for him and once he was out of the trees they would surround him, chop down his companions and take him to his cousin.
It was time to hide again.
Joscelyn loved the gun. It was a thing of ugly beauty; a solid, bulbous, thunderous lump of clumsy killing machine. He wanted more of them. With a dozen such devices, he thought, he could be the greatest lord of Gascony.
It had taken five days to drag the gun to Castillon d'Arbizon where Joscelyn had discovered that the siege, if it could even be called that, was going nowhere. Sir Henri claimed he had contained the garrison by penning them into the castle, but he had made no effort to attack. He had built no scaling ladders, nor positioned his crossbowmen close enough to pick the English archers off the ramparts. Been dozing, have you?“ Joscelyn snarled. No, lord.”
Paid you off, did they?“ Joscelyn demanded. Bribed you perhaps?” Sir Henri bridled at such an affront to his honour, but Joscelyn ignored him. Instead he ordered the crossbowmen to advance halfway up the main street and find windows or walls from where they could shoot at the men on the castle ramparts, and five of the crossbowmen were dead and another six were wounded by the long English arrows before the day ended, but Joscelyn was content. Got them worried. he claimed, and tomorrow we'll begin slaughtering them.'
Signor Gioberti, the Italian master gunner, decided to place his cannon just inside the town's west gate. There was a convenient stretch of level cobbles there, and on them he put the two vast baulks of timber that supported the wooden frame that cradled the jar-shaped weapon. The spot was a good twenty yards outside the range of the English archers, so his men were safe and, better still, the gate's archway, ten paces behind the gun, provided shelter from the intermittent showers so his men could mix the gunpowder safely.
It took all morning to emplace the gun and its frame, which had to be lifted from the wagon by a crane that Gioberti's men constructed from stout pieces of oak. The runners beneath the frame had been greased with pig lard, and Gioberti placed a tub of the white fat beside the gun so that the runners could be kept lubricated as the frame recoiled whenever the gun was fired. The cannon's missiles were carried on a separate wagon and each needed two men to lift it from their bed. The missiles were iron bolts, four feet long; some were shaped like arrows with stubby metal vanes while the rest were simple bars, each as thick across as a man's upper arm. The powder came in barrels, but it needed stirring because the heavy saltpetre, which made up about two thirds of the mix, had sunk to the bottom of the tubs while the lighter sulphur and charcoal had risen to the top. The stirring was done with a long wooden spoon, and when Signor Gioberti was satisfied, he ordered eight cupfuls to be placed in the dark recess of the gun.
That breech, where the explosion would take place, was contained by the great jar-like bulge of the cannon's rear. That bulbous piece of iron was painted on one side with an image of Saint Eloi, the patron saint of metal, and on the other with Saint Maurice, the patron of soldiers, while below the saints was the gun's name, Hell Spitter. She's three years old, lord,“ Gioberti told Joscelyn, and as well behaved as a properly beaten woman.” Well behaved?'
I've seen them split, lord.“ Gioberti indicated the bulbous breech and explained that some guns tore themselves apart when they were fired, shattering scraps of hot metal to decimate the crew. But Hell Spitter? She's as sound as a bell. And that's who made her, lord, bell-founders in Milan. They're hard to cast right, very hard.” You can do it?' Joscelyn enquired, imagining a cannon foundry in Berat.
Not me, lord. But you can hire good men. Or find bell-founders. They know how to do it, and there's a way of making sure they do a proper job.'
What's that?' Joscelyn asked eagerly.
You make the gun's makers stand by the breech when the first shot is fired, my lord. That concentrates them on their work!“ Gioberti chuckled. I had Hell Spitter's founders standing by her and they didn't flinch. Proves she's well made, my lord, well made.” A fuse, made from linen soaked with a mix of oil and gunpowder and protected by a sewn linen sheath, was placed with one end in the powder and the other trailing through the gun's narrow neck where the missile would be placed. Some gunners, Gioberti said, preferred a hole drilled through the big breech, but he was of the opinion that such a hole dissipated part of the gun's force and he preferred to light the fuse from the gun's mouth. The white linen tube was held in place by a handful of wet loam slapped into the narrow neck, and only when that loam had set slightly did Gioberti allow two of his men to bring one of the arrow-shaped bolts, which was lifted up to the flaring mouth and carefully pushed back so that its long black length rested in the cannon's narrow neck. Now more loam was brought, newly mixed from river water and from sand and clay that were carried in the third wagon, and the loam was packed all around the missile to make a tight seal. It holds in the explosion,
