weapons for the Empress's cause. There had been raids, and the Earl judged Oliver a competent deterrent.
He had ridden out at dawn on the day following Ethel's seizure. Concerned for the women, he would rather have remained in Bristol, but orders were orders and Earl Robert's word law. It irked him that there had been no opportunity to talk to Catrin before he left — either for fighting or trysting. He missed her; he needed to know that she was safe, and was so chafed by his anxiety that he was unbearable to those around him.
'Still, we'll be back in Bristol for the Christmas feast, Gawin said, trying to lighten Oliver's heavy mood. They were riding along a forest track not far from the forge at Darkhill. The wind was bitter, sown with sleet, and the trees gave small protection, their branches winter-black and fluttering with a ragged tracery of dead leaves.
'More than three weeks away, Oliver growled, not in the least co-operative. 'And that's three more weeks of this and worse. He cast a jaundiced glare at the sky and eased his position in the saddle. 'It hasn't even been light today.
'At least we'll soon have a fire to warm our hands. Gawin's tone was placatory.
Oliver grunted. Actually, the thought of warmth and food was welcoming, albeit that he would have to spend the night rolled in his cloak guarding a cartload of horseshoe bars before the morrow's journey to the ferry barge. 'I suppose so, he yielded grudgingly, then raised his head at the sound of a furious yell from the track in front of them.
Wrestling his shield round to his left arm, Oliver drew his sword and urged Hero to a trot. Gawin fell into line at his left shoulder, and the other soldiers in the troop closed formation. Moments later, they rounded a sharp bend and came upon the sight of three ragged men with knives being held at bay by a single giant who was swinging an oak quarterstaff with accuracy and gusto. One of his attackers was on his knees, clutching his broken arm and screaming. As Oliver watched, the giant threw another one off his feet with a heave from the quarterstaff. The third man ran in low, attempting to slash the quarry's hamstring, but the quarterstaff arrived before the knife and dropped the attacker with a hefty blow to the temple.
Feeling somewhat superfluous, Oliver uttered a yell and spurred forward. The two robbers who were capable took to their heels among the trees. Oliver signalled to Gawin and two others, who detached from the troop and cantered after them.
The giant faced Oliver, his beard bristling and his quarter-staff at the ready. Sweat beaded his brow and he was visibly winded, but not to the point of being incapable of defending himself.
Oliver sheathed his sword and put his shield on its long strap to show that he posed no threat. 'What happened?
'You can see, the man said, with a brusque gesture. 'They were waiting at the roadside and they set upon me.
One of Oliver's troops had dismounted to investigate the robber in the dust. 'Dead, he announced. 'Skull's stove in. He picked up the ragamuffin's knife and handed it up to his master.
Oliver examined the weapon thoughtfully. It was an evil tool, with a bone haft and a notched blade a full handspan long. 'Fortunate that you are more handy with that staff than he was with a knife, he remarked, as he thrust it in his saddle pouch. 'Are you bound for Darkhill?
The giant narrowed his eyes at Oliver, considering, then gave a curt nod. 'To visit with my sister, he said. 'I've been absent a year and eight months.
'On pilgrimage? Oliver indicated the pewter badges stitched to the man's brown cloak.
'Rome, Jerusalem, came the shrugged reply. 'I made a promise to our father.
The stranger had given enough account of himself to gain Oliver's respect and curiosity; now feelings of empathy were roused too. The gathering murk of dusk with two miles still to cover was not, however, the place to explore their common ground. 'I too have been a pilgrim, was all he said. 'You are welcome to journey with us the rest of the way. You can use one of the re-mounts. He jerked his shoulder towards the spare horses at the rear of his line.
The man eyed him then gave a jut of his beard in assent. 'My name is Godard, he said, and offering no more information than that shouldered his quarterstaff, stepped over the body of the predator who had become a victim and advanced on the waiting horse.
The two thieves who had survived their assault on Godard proved to be outlaws who had been plotting to sneak into the village and steal some of the horseshoe bars to sell for their own gain. Whilst lying up in the forest, they had caught sight of Godard, a lone traveller, and had chanced their luck once too often. They were the sheriff's meat now and, without a doubt, would swing from a gibbet when the time came. The dead man was consigned to the care of the priest, and a length of sacking was found to make his shroud.
Godard went off to visit his family, but later that night, when all but a few rush lights had been dimmed, he returned to speak with Oliver, who was keeping warm in Darkhill's small alehouse. There was a pitcher to hand, but Oliver had taken no more than a cup from its bounty. Wits were for keeping when there was a cartload of hammered steel to be protected. His own watch was due when the hourglass had turned three times. For the moment, Gawin commanded the men on guard.
'You say you've been a pilgrim too, Godard stated without preamble, and sat down beside Oliver. For such a huge man, he moved lightly and although considered, there was nothing slow about his actions.
Oliver pushed the jug at him. 'Rome and Jerusalem like you, and a few other places. He parted his cloak and showed Godard his pilgrim belt. 'For my wife's soul, and my own.
Godard pursed his lips and nodded. Oliver could see him struggling not to look impressed at the weight of pewter punched through the leather.
'Not that I feel any more worthy for the effort, he added, 'but I saw places and things that most men will not see in their lifetime.
'Aye, Godard agreed, and poured himself a cupful of ale. He took a long draught and then pinched moisture from his moustache. 'But you try describing a camel to a sister who's never been further than five miles in her life. A horse with a hump don't hardly fit.
'No. Oliver grinned at the thought, and his companion responded with the merest glimmer of a smile, although it was hard to tell, so thick was his beard.
For the next hour they talked of their experiences, both men reticent but with each exchange the ground thawing between them. Then, in a lull, Godard refilled his cup for the third time and pushed the pitcher aside, signifying that he would drink no more. 'Are you looking to recruit men? he asked, with an abrupt change of tack.
Oliver stared at him for a moment, nonplussed, but quickly rallied. 'Earl Robert is always looking for men, he said, and shook his head. 'This war eats them like a foul serpent and spits out their bones. Is there not a place for you at your sister's hearth? Do you have no trade?
Godard nodded. 'I'm a shepherd, but my father's wealth did not stretch to providing for eight sons and four daughters. If I lived here with my sister and her husband, I would be a madman within a sennight. We'd kill each other so we would. Reaching to his cup, he drained his ale. 'But you heard me a-wrong. I asked if you yourself were looking to recruit men.
Oliver snorted with dark amusement. 'Not unless they want paying in beans! My own patrimony lies in a stranger's hands, and until I can regain it I'm beholden to Earl Robert for the money in my pouch and the clothes on my back — Jesu, even the oats and stabling for my horse. The bitterness in his own voice surprised him. Nor was it the ale talking, for he had consumed no more than a quart.
'You're not beholden to him, Godard said in his measured way. 'You give him your service, and he only repays what is owed.
Oliver shrugged, acknowledging the point without any great conviction. His hand twitched towards the flagon and then withdrew. He looked at Godard, taking in the taciturn but honest features, and the sheer bulk of the man. All he knew of him was that he was a doughty fighter who would not cry over spilt milk, that he could look after himself, and had a healthy sense of duty, if not respect, towards members of his family. What was more important, Oliver felt that he could trust him.
'Why are you staring? Godard asked suspiciously.
Oliver folded his elbows on the ale wife's old, splintered trestle. 'I am not looking to 'recruit men' as such. If I did, it would be for the Earl because, as I have said, I do not have the coin to employ them. But if you are interested, I could afford to pay you to perform a certain task for me.
