Thomas arrived at last light. His horses were worn out, stumbling into the grove of chestnut and oak where an archer, seeing horsemen dark against the furnace of the sunset, shouted a challenge. ‘Who are you?’
‘It’s no good shouting in English, Simon,’ Thomas called back.
‘God’s belly,’ Simon lowered his bow. ‘We thought you was dead.’
‘I feel dead,’ Thomas said. He and his companions had ridden hard all day, then cast around the Count of Labrouillade’s castle in search of the men who had ridden from Castillon d’Arbizon, not knowing if they would be there, but finding them on this tree-covered hill that offered a view of the castle’s sole entrance. Thomas slid from the saddle, his spirits as low as the swollen sun, which threw long shadows down the wide valley where Labrouillade had his fortress.
‘We tried to stop them,’ Sam told him.
‘You did well,’ Thomas said when he had heard the whole story. Sam and his archers had reached the stream only minutes before Roland and his escort came into sight and they had indeed done well to set up an ambush.
‘We’d have taken down every last man if it hadn’t been for Hugh,’ Sam went on. ‘Bastard had a knife at his throat. We killed a couple though.’
‘But Genevieve’s inside?’
Sam nodded. ‘She and Hugh.’
Thomas stared at the castle from the edge of the trees. No chance, he thought. The sun reddened the curtain wall, glimmered the moat scarlet, and reflected a wink of lurid light from the helmet of a sentinel. With a cannon, he thought, he could shatter the drawbridge in a day, but how would he cross the moat?
‘I brought your bow,’ Sam said.
‘You were expecting me?’ Thomas asked. ‘Or planning to use it yourself?’
Sam looked confused for a moment, then changed the subject. ‘And we fetched the countess as well,’ he said.
‘Fetched her?’
Sam jerked his head southwards. ‘She’s in a farm back there. Pitt’s making sure the silly bitch doesn’t run off.’
‘Why the hell did you bring her?’
‘In case you want to exchange her,’ Sam said. ‘It was Father Levonne’s idea. He’s here too.’
‘Father Levonne? Why?’
‘He wanted to come. He’s not sure you should exchange her, but …’ Sam’s voice died away.
‘It would be a simple solution,’ Thomas said. He was thinking that he should not be wasting time here. There was
‘You have sentinels?’ he asked Sam.
‘All along the wood’s edge. Couple more on the road east, dozen around the farm.’
‘You did well,’ Thomas said again. The moon was rising as the last daylight drained from the west. Thomas gestured for Keane to join him as he walked towards the farm where Bertille was held. ‘I want you to ride within hailing distance of the castle,’ he told the Irishman. ‘No weapons. Hold your hands out wide to show you’re unarmed.’
‘And will I be unarmed?’
‘You will.’
‘Jesus,’ the Irishman said. ‘So how far can a crossbow shoot?’
‘Much farther than you can shout.’
‘You want me dead, then?’
‘If I went,’ Thomas said, ‘I think they might shoot, but they don’t know you, and you have a brisk tongue.’
‘You noticed that, did you?’
‘They won’t shoot,’ Thomas said reassuringly, hoping it was true, ‘because they’ll want to hear what you have to say.’
Keane snapped his fingers and the two wolfhounds came to his heels. ‘And what do I have to say?’
‘Tell them I’ll exchange the countess for Genevieve and my son. There are to be no more than three men as escorts on either side, and the exchange will happen halfway between the wood and the castle.’
‘Is that what all this fuss is about?’ Keane asked. ‘The countess?’
‘Labrouillade wants her back.’
‘Ah, that’s touching. The man must love her.’
Thomas preferred not to think why the count wanted Bertille back because he knew that by exchanging her he was condemning her to misery and possibly death, but Genevieve and Hugh were infinitely more important to him. It was a pity, he thought. It was unavoidable.
‘And just when do I deliver this message?’ Keane asked.
‘Now,’ Thomas said. ‘There’s enough moonlight for them to see you’re not armed.’
‘Enough to aim a crossbow too.’
‘That too,’ Thomas agreed.
He found the countess in the farm’s enormous kitchen, a room crossed by heavy beams from which hung drying herbs. Father Levonne, the priest from Castillon d’Arbizon, was there, and Pitt was guarding her. Pitt, he owned to no other name, was a tall, lean and taciturn man with a gaunt face, lank hair tied with a frayed bowstring, and deep-set eyes. He was English, from Cheshire, but he had joined the Hellequin in Gascony, riding out of a forest as though he belonged to them and then just falling into line and saying nothing. He was black-humoured, morose, and Thomas suspected he had deserted from some other company, but he was also a superb archer and knew how to lead men in battle. ‘Glad you’re back,’ he growled when he saw Thomas.
‘Thomas,’ Father Levonne said in relief, and stood up from the chair beside Bertille.
Thomas waved the priest down. Bertille sat at the big table where two candles burned smokily. A maid, provided by Genevieve from among the girls at Castillon d’Arbizon, knelt beside her. The countess’s eyes were red from crying. She looked up at Thomas. ‘You’re going to give me back, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Thomas …’ Father Levonne started.
‘Yes,’ Thomas said harshly, cutting off whatever protest the priest was about to make.
Bertille lowered her head and began crying again. ‘Do you know what he’ll do to me?’
‘He has my wife and son,’ Thomas said.
She sobbed quietly.
‘Jesus,’ Keane hissed beside Thomas.
Thomas ignored the Irishman. ‘I’m sorry, my lady,’ he said.
‘When?’ she asked.
‘Tonight, I hope.’
‘I’d rather be dead,’ she said.
‘Thomas,’ Father Levonne said, ‘let me go and talk to the count.’
‘What the hell good do you think that will do?’ Thomas asked more curtly than he had intended.
‘Just let me talk to him.’
Thomas shook his head. ‘The Count of Labrouillade,’ he said, ‘is an evil bastard, a fat malevolent angry bastard, and by this time of night he’ll probably be half drunk, and if I let you go into his castle you probably won’t come out.’
‘Then I stay there. I’m a priest. I go where I’m needed.’ Father Levonne paused. ‘Let me talk to him.’
