armed men. Roland was becoming ever more cautious and had sent two of the count’s men-at-arms a quarter-mile ahead to scout the road, but as the day passed they reported nothing threatening. He worried that their progress was so slow, suspecting that Genevieve was deliberately causing delay, yet he could not prove it and his courtesy demanded that he respect every request she made for privacy. Were women’s bladders really that small? Yet in two days more, Roland thought, he would reach Labrouillade and could send a message to the Hellequin demanding Bertille’s return in exchange for the safety of Thomas’s wife and child, and so he tried to reassure himself that the quest was almost finished. ‘We must find a place to spend the night,’ he said to Genevieve as the sun sank on the their third day of travel.
Then he saw his scouts hurrying from the north. One of them was gesturing wildly.
‘He’s seen something,’ Roland said, more to himself than to any of his companions.
‘Jesus,’ one of the men-at-arms said, because now they could see what had alarmed the scouts. The evening was drawing in and the sun cast long shadows across the countryside, but on the northern skyline, suddenly bright in that fading sunlight, were men. Men and steel, men and iron, and men and horses. The light glinted off armour and off weapons, from helmets and from the finial of a banner, though the flag was too far off to be seen clearly. Roland tried to count them, but the distant horsemen were moving around. Twelve? Fifteen?
‘Maybe you won’t live to see the night,’ Genevieve said.
‘They can’t have got in front of us,’ Jacques said, though without much conviction.
Panic made Roland hesitate. He rarely felt panic. In a tournament, even in a wild melee, he was calm amidst the chaos. He felt, in those moments, as if an angel guarded him, warned him of danger, and showed opportunity. He was fast, so that even in the most disastrous turmoil, it seemed to him as if other men moved slowly. Yet now he felt real fear. There were no rules here, no marshals to stop the fighting, just danger.
‘The first you’ll know,’ Genevieve said, ‘is the flight of an arrow.’
‘There’s some kind of village over there!’ One of the scouts, his horse white with sweat, galloped up to the hesitant Roland and pointed to the east. ‘There’s a tower there.’
‘A church?’
‘God knows. A tower. It’s not far, maybe a league?’
‘How many men did you see?’ Roland asked.
‘Two dozen? There could be more.’
‘Let’s go!’ Jacques snarled.
A rough track led through a wooded valley towards the hidden tower. Roland took it, leading Genevieve’s mare by its reins. He hurried. He glanced back to see that the distant men had vanished from the skyline, then he was among trees and ducking to avoid low branches. He fancied he heard hooves behind, but saw nothing. His heart was pounding in a way it never did in the tournament lists. ‘Go ahead,’ he told his squire, Michel, ‘find who owns the tower and demand shelter. Go! Go!’
Roland told himself it could not be Thomas pursuing him. If Thomas had escaped Montpellier then he would be south of Roland surely, not north? Maybe no one pursued him? Perhaps the armed men were on some innocent journey, yet why would they be armoured? Why wear helmets? His horse pounded through the leaf mould. They splashed through a shallow stream and cantered beside a puny vineyard. ‘Thomas’s men call their arrows the devil’s steel hail,’ Genevieve said.
‘Be quiet!’ Roland snapped, forgetting his courtesy. Two of the count’s men were riding close to her, making sure she did not try to fall off her horse and so slow them down. He rode up a slight slope, looked behind and saw no pursuer, then they breasted the shallow crest and there was a small village and, just beyond, the tower of a half-ruined church. The sun had almost gone and the tower was in shadow. It showed no lights.
The horses crashed through the village, scattering fowl, dogs and goats. Most of the houses were derelict, their thatch blackened or fallen in, and Roland realised this must be a village denuded by the plague. He made the sign of the cross. A woman snatched her child from the path of the big horses. A man called out a question, but Roland ignored it. He was imagining the devil’s steel hail. Imagining the arrows slicing from the twilight to slaughter men and horses, and then he was in a small graveyard and one of his men was in the broken nave of the church and had found the steps that climbed into the old bell tower. ‘It’s empty,’ he called.
‘Inside,’ Roland ordered.
And so, in the dusk, Roland to the dark tower came.
Thomas, Keane, and their prisoner reached the mill to find Karyl and nine remaining men-at-arms ready, though what they were ready for none of them knew. They were all in mail, their horses were saddled, and they were nervous. ‘We know about Genevieve,’ Karyl greeted Thomas.
‘How?’
Karyl jerked his scarred face towards a man dressed only in hose, shirt, boots, and coat. The man had been shrinking from Thomas’s sight, but Thomas spurred towards him. ‘Keep an eye on that bastard,’ he told Karyl, indicating Pitou, ‘if he annoys you, hit him.’ He curbed his horse by the reluctant man and looked down into a very anxious face. ‘What happened to your monk’s habit?’ he asked.
‘I still have it,’ Brother Michael said.
‘Then why aren’t you wearing it?’
‘Because I don’t want to be a monk!’ Brother Michael protested.
‘He brought us news.’ Karyl had followed Thomas. ‘He said Genevieve was taken, and you are hunted.’
‘They have taken Genevieve,’ Thomas confirmed.
‘De Verrec?’
‘I assume he’s taking her to Labrouillade.’
‘I sent the rest of the men to Castillon,’ Karyl said, ‘and told Sir Henri to send at least forty men towards us. It was his idea.’ He nodded down at Brother Michael.
Thomas looked at the monk. ‘Your idea?’
Brother Michael looked about the hilltop anxiously, as if seeking somewhere to hide. ‘It seemed a sensible idea,’ he said finally.
Thomas was not so certain it was sensible. He had ten men, twelve if you counted the reluctant student and even more reluctant monk, and they would be pursuing Roland de Verrec while the men from Castillon d’Arbizon would be roaming an unfriendly country looking for Thomas. That could lead to disaster if either small group was confronted by a much larger enemy. Yet if they did link up? He nodded approval. ‘It was probably a good idea,’ he said grudgingly. ‘So now you’ll go back to Montpellier?’
‘Me? Why?’ Brother Michael asked indignantly.
‘To learn how to sniff piss.’
‘No!’
‘So what do you want?’
‘To stay with you.’
‘Or with Bertille?’
Brother Michael coloured. ‘To stay with you, sire.’
Thomas nodded towards Keane. ‘He doesn’t want to be a priest and you don’t want to be a monk. Now you’re both Hellequin.’
Brother Michael looked disbelieving. ‘I am?’ he asked excitedly.
‘You are,’ Thomas said.
‘So all we need now is a pair of ripe young girls who don’t want to be nuns,’ Keane said cheerfully.
Karyl had not seen Roland de Verrec pass northwards with Genevieve. ‘You told us to stay hidden,’ he said reproachfully, ‘away from the road. So we did.’
‘He didn’t come this way,’ Thomas said, ‘he’s on the Gignac road, at least I think he is, and the bastard has a day’s lead on us.’
‘We follow?’
‘We’ll use the roads through the hills,’ Thomas said. He did not know those roads, but they had to exist because, looking north, he could see villages in the higher ground. He could see a mill on the skyline and smoke
