Hood

'What of the phantom?'

'Ah,' replied Guy, 'yes.' He had anticipated such a question and was ready with an answer. 'Many of you will have heard some gossip of this phantom, non?' He paused, trying to appear severe and dauntless for his men. 'It is but a tale to frighten infants, nothing more. We are men, not children, so we will give this rumour the contempt it deserves.' He offered a grimace of ridicule to show his scorn, adding, 'It would take a whole forest full of phantoms to daunt Baron de Braose's soldiers, n'est cepas?'

He commanded the treasure train to move out. The soldiers took their mounts and fell into line: a rank of knights, three abreast to lead the train, followed by men-at-arms alongside and between each of the wagons, with four knights serving as outriders patrolling the road ahead and behind on each side. At the head of this impressive procession rode Guy himself on his fine grey stallion; directly behind him rode his sergeant to relay any commands to those behind.

By morning's end the money train had reached the forest edge. The road was wide, though rutted, and the wagon drivers were forced to slow their pace to keep from jolting the wheels to pieces. The soldiers clopped along, passing through patches of sunlight and shadow, alert to the smallest movement around them. It was cool in the shade of the trees, and the air was thick with birdsong and the sounds of insects. All remained peaceful and serene, and they met no one else on the road.

A little past midday, however, they came to a place where the road dipped low into a dell, at the bottom of which trickled a sluggish rill. Despite the fine dry weather, the shallow fording place was a churned mass of mud and muck. Apparently, herders using the road had allowed their animals to use it for a watering hole, and the beasts had transformed the road into a wallow.

Stuck in the middle of the ford was a wagon full of manure sunk up to its axles. A ragged farmer was snapping the reins of his two-ox team, and the creatures were bawling as they strained against the yoke, but to no avail. The farmer's wife stood off to one side, hands on hips, shouting at the man, who appeared to be taking no heed of her. Both the man and his wife were filthy to their knees.

The road narrowed at the ford, and the surrounding ground was so soft and chewed up that Guy could see there would be no going around. Wary, senses prickling to danger, Guy halted the train. He rode ahead alone to see what had happened. 'Pax vobiscum,' he said, reining up behind the wagon. 'What goes here?'

The farmer ceased swatting his team and turned to address the knight. 'Good day, sire,' the man said in rough Latin, removing his shapeless straw hat. 'You see how it is,' He gestured vaguely at the wagon. 'I am stuck.'

'I told him to put down planks,' the farmwife called in shrill defiance. 'But he wouldn't listen.'

'Shut up, woman!' shouted the farmer to his wife. Turning back to the knight, he said, 'We'll soon have it out, never fear.' Eyeing the waiting train behind them, he said, 'Maybe if some of your fellows could help-'

'No,' Guy told him. 'Just you get on with it.'

'At once, m'lord.' He turned back to the task of coaxing, threatening, and bullying the struggling team once more.

Guy rode back to the waiting train. 'We will rest here and move on when they have cleared the ford. Water the horses.'

The horses were watered and rested and the sun was beginning its long, slow descent when the farmer finally ceased shouting and slapping his team. Guy, thinking the wagon was finally free, hurried back down into the dell only to find the farmer lying on the grassy slope above the ford, his wagon as firmly stuck as ever.

'You! What in God's name are you doing?' demanded Guy.

'Sire?' replied the farmer, sitting up quickly.

'The wagon remains stuck.'

'Aye, sire, it is that,' agreed the farmer ruefully. 'I have tried everything, but it won't budge for gold nor goose fat.'

Glancing around quickly, the knight said, 'Where's the woman?'

'I sent her ahead to see if there might be anyone coming the other way that could maybe lend a hand, sire,' replied the farmer. 'Seeing as how you and your men are busylike…' He left the rest of the thought unspoken.

'Get up!' shouted Guy. 'Get back to your team. You have delayed us long enough.'

'As you say, sire,' replied the farmer. He rose and shambled back to the wagon.

Guy returned to the waiting train and ordered five men-at-arms to dismount and help pull the wagon free. These first five were soon as muddy as the farmer, and with just as little to show for it. So, with increasing impatience, Guy ordered five more men-at-arms and three knights on horseback to help, too. Soon, the muddy wallow was heaving with men and horses. The knights attached ropes to the wagon, and with three or four men at each wheel and horses pulling, they succeeded in hauling the overloaded vehicle up out of the hole into which it had sunk.

With a creak and a groan, the cart started up the greasy bank. The soldiers cheered. And then just as the wheels came free, there came a loud crack as the rear axle snapped. The hind wheels buckled and the cart subsided once more; men and horses, still attached to the ropes, were dragged down with it. The oxen could not keep their feet and fell, sprawling over each other. Caught in their yoke, they thrashed in the mud, kicking and bellowing.

Guy saw his hopes of a swift resolution to his problem sinking into the mire and loosed a spate of Ffreinc abuse on the head of the luckless farmer. 'Loose those animals!' he ordered his men. 'Then drag that cart out of the way.'

Seven men-at-arms leapt to obey. Working quickly, they unyoked the oxen and led them from the wallow. Once free, the farmer led them aside and stood with them while the soldiers emptied his wagon, pitching the manure over the sides and then, slowly and with great effort, dragging the broken vehicle up the slippery bank and off the road.

'Thank you, sire!' called the farmer, regarding the wreck of his wagon with the dubious air of a man who knows he should be grateful but realises he is ruined.

'Idiot!' muttered Guy. Satisfied that his wagon train could now pass through, Guy rode back up the slope and signalled the drivers to come ahead.

When the first of the three teams had descended into the dellwhich now resembled a well-stirred bog-Guy, taking no chances, ordered branches to be cut and laid down and ropes to be attached so riders could help pull the fully laden vehicle through the morass. Like a boat dragged across a tide-abandoned bay, the first wagon slid recklessly across. The laborious process was repeated for each of the two remaining wagons in turn.

Guy waited impatiently while the soldiers paused to clean the mud and ordure off themselves as best they could. His sergeant, a veteran named Jeremias, approached and said, 'The sun is soon down, sire. Do you want to make camp now and journey on at daybreak tomorrow?'

'No,' Guy growled, glancing at the miserable swamp now reeking with manure. 'We've wasted enough time here today. I want to put this place behind us. We push on.' Raising himself in the stirrups, he shouted, 'Be mounted!'

A few moments later, all had regained the saddle. Guy waited until they had fallen into line and reformed the ranks, then called, 'Marcher sur!' and the money train resumed its journey.

Once over the rim of the dell, the forest closed around them once more. The setting sun thickened the shadows beneath the overarching limbs, giving the riders the sensation of entering a dim green tunnel. Darkness crept in, closing silently around them. Guy was soon wishing he had not been so hasty in rebutting the sergeant's suggestion and decided that they would make camp at the next glade or meadow; but the underbrush crowded close on each side of the road, the tree trunks so close that the wagon wheels bumped over exposed roots, forcing the drivers to slow the pace even more. All the while, the last of the daylight steadily faded to a murky twilight, and the evening hush descended on the forest.

It was only then, in the quiet of the wood, that Marshal Guy de Gysburne began to wonder why it was that two bedraggled English farmers should speak such ready Latin. The thought had little time to take root in his awareness when the soldiers saw the first of the hanging corpses.

CHAPTER