no drums. There were moans and weeping and sometimes a gasp, but it seemed quiet. The wind stirred the fallen banners and flickered the white feathers of the fallen arrows that had reminded Sir Guillaume of a spread of flowers.
And it was over.
Sir William Skeat lived. He could not speak, there was no life in his eyes and he seemed deaf. He could not walk, though he seemed to try when Thomas lifted him, but then his legs crumpled and he sagged to the bloody ground.
Father Hobbe lifted Skeat's helmet away, doing it with an extra-ordinary gentleness. Blood poured from Skeat's grey hair and Thomas gagged when he saw the sword cut in the scalp. There were scraps of skull, strands of hair and Skeat's brain all open to the air.
Will?“ Thomas knelt in front of him. Will?” Skeat looked at him, but did not seem to see him. He had a half smile and empty eyes.
Will!' Thomas said.
He's going to die, Thomas,“ Father Hobbe said softly. He is not! Goddamn it, he is not! You hear me? He will live. You bloody pray for him!”
I will pray, God knows how I Will pray,“ Father Hobbe soothed Thomas, but first we must doctor him.”
Eleanor helped. She washed Will Skeat's scalp, then she and Father Hobbe laid scraps of broken skull like pieces of shat-tered tile. Afterwards Eleanor tore a strip of cloth from her blue dress and gently bound the strip about Will Skeat's skull, tying it beneath his chin so that when it was done he looked like an old woman in a scarf. He had said nothing as Eleanor and the priest bandaged him, and if he had felt any pain it did not show on his face.
Drink, Will,' Thomas said, and held out a water bottle taken from a dead Frenchman, but Skeat ignored the offer. Eleanor took the bottle and held it to his mouth, but the water just spilled down his chin. It was dark by then. Sam and Jake had made a fire, using a battle-axe to chop French lances for fuel. Will Skeat just sat by the flames. He breathed, but nothing else.
I have seen it before,' Sir Guillaume told Thomas. He had hardly spoken since the battle, but now sat beside Thomas. He had watched his daughter tend Skeat and he had accepted food and drink from her, but he had shrugged away her conversation.
Will he recover?' Thomas asked.
Sir Guillaume shrugged. I saw a man cut through the skull. He lived another four years, but only because the sisters in the abbaye looked after him.'
He will live!' Thomas said.
Sir Guillaume lifted one of Skeat's hands, held it for a few seconds, then let it drop. Maybe,“ he sounded sceptical. You were fond of him?”
He's like a father,' Thomas said.
Fathers die,' Sir Guillaume said bleakly. He looked drained, like a man who had turned his sword against his own king and failed in his duty.
He will live,' Thomas said stubbornly.
Sleep,“ Sir Guillaume said, I will watch him.” Thomas slept among the dead, in the battle line where the wounded moaned and the night wind stirred the white feathers flecking the valley. Will Skeat was no different in the morning. He just sat, eyes vacant, gazing at nothing and stinking because he had fouled himself.
I shall find the Earl,“ Father Hobbe said, and have him send Will back to England.”
The army stirred itself sluggishly. Forty English men-at-arms and as many archers were buried in Crecy's church yard, but the hun-dreds of French corpses, all but for the great princes and noblest lords, were left on the hill. The folk of Crecy could bury them if they wished, Edward of England did not care.
Father Hobbe looked for the Earl of Northampton, but two thou-sand French infantry had arrived just after dawn, coming to reinforce an army that had already been broken, and in the misty light they had thought the mounted men who greeted them were friends and then the horsemen dropped their visors, couched their lances and put back their spurs. The Earl led them.
Most of the English knights had been denied a chance to fight on horseback in the previous day's battle, but now, this Sunday morning, they'd been given their moment and the great destriers had torn bloody gaps in the marching ranks, then wheeled to cut the survivors into ragged terror. The French had fled, pursued by the implacable horsemen, who had cut and thrust until their arms were weary with the killing.
Back on the hill between Crecy and Wadicourt a pile of enemy banners was gathered. The flags were torn and some were still damp with blood. The oriflamme was carried to Edward who folded it and ordered the priests to give thanks. His son lived, the battle was won and all Christendom would know how God favoured the English cause. He declared he would spend this one day on the field to mark the victory, then march on. His army was still tired, but it had boots now and it would be fed. Cattle were roaring as archers slaughtered them and more archers were bringing food from the hill where the French army had abandoned its supplies. Other men were plucking arrows from the field and tying them into sheaves while their women plundered the dead.
The Earl of Northampton came back to Crecy's hill roaring and grinning. Like slaughtering sheep!' he exulted, then roamed up and down the line trying to relive the excitements of the last two days. He stopped by Thomas and grinned at the archers and their women.
You look different, young Thomas!“ he said happily, but then looked down and saw Will Skeat sitting like a child with his head bound by the blue scarf. Will?” the Earl said in puzzlement. Sir William?'
Skeat just sat.
He was cut through the skull, my lord,“ Thomas said. The Earl's bombast fled like air from a pricked bladder. He slumped in his saddle, shaking his head. No,” he protested, no. Not Will!“ He still had a bloody sword in his hand, but now he wiped the blade through the mane of his horse and pushed it into the scabbard. I was going to send him back to Brittany,” he said. Will he live?'
No one answered.
Will?“ the Earl called, then clumsily dismounted from the cling-ing saddle. He crouched by the Yorkshireman. Will? Talk to me, Will!”
He must go to England, my lord,“ Father Hobbe said. Of course,” the Earl said.
No,' Thomas said.
The Earl frowned at him. No?'
There is a doctor in Caen, my lord,“ Thomas spoke in French now, and I would take him there. This doctor works miracles, my lord.”
The Earl smiled sadly. Caen is in French hands again, Thomas,' he said, and I doubt they'll welcome you.
He will be welcome,“ Sir Guillaume said, and the Earl noticed the Frenchman and his unfamiliar livery for the first time. He is a prisoner, my lord,” Thomas explained, but also a friend. We serve you, so his ransom is yours, but he alone can take Will to Caen.'
Is it a large ransom?' the Earl asked.
Vast,' Thomas said.
Then your ransom, sir,“ the Earl spoke to Sir Guillaume, is Will Skeat's life.” He stood and took his horse's reins from an archer, then turned back to Thomas. The boy looked different, he thought, looked like a man. He had cut his hair, that was it. Chopped it, anyway. And he looked like a soldier now, like a man who could lead archers into battle. I want you in the spring, Thomas,“ he said. There'll be archers to lead, and if Will can't do it, then you must. Look after him now, but in the spring you'll serve me again, you hear?”
Yes, my lord.'
I hope your doctor can work miracles,' the Earl said, then he walked on.
Sir Guillaume had understood the things that had been said in French, but not the rest and now he looked at Thomas. We go to Caen?' he asked.
We take Will to Doctor Mordecai,' Thomas said.
And after that?'
I go to the Earl,' Thomas said curtly.
Sir Guillaume flinched. And Vexille, what of him?“ What of him?” Thomas asked brutally. He's lost his damned lance.“ He looked at Father Hobbe and spoke in English. Is my penance done, father?”
