Defiant Unto Death (55 page)

Guillaume's uncertainty silenced him for a moment; everything behind them had been destroyed. There was no life: there was no house, no servants; all had been obliterated. ‘There is no home to return to,' he said. ‘Sir Thomas is your home, my lady.'

‘Take me back to the river near Avignon. I'll find a bargeman to take me north, and from there we can ride back to Normandy. That's where I belong. That's where my children belong. The house of Harcourt will give me the protection my children need.'

‘I don't understand. The Harcourts are dead, the house taken by King John's men. Sir Godfrey was slain, and the Dauphin will remember their betrayal. You can't go back.'

‘Jean and Godfrey betrayed the King and paid for the treason. But their brother Louis stayed loyal to the family name. He will offer me protection. And the Dauphin will extend his forgiveness to me because my father died fighting the English. If you won't help me, I'll go alone with the children.'

His honour meant everything. It was how a man was measured. It should not have been his concern if a knight's lady decided to disobey her husband. Obedience was a demand made and seldom questioned. But now the woman he had known since childhood, who had, like him, been given refuge by the Harcourt family, needed his protection.

‘Sir Thomas charged me with your protection at all times. I can't let you go alone.'

She saw the conflict written on his face, but forced away her compassion for his feelings. She would use any means and anyone necessary to escape the torment that her life had become. She carried a bastard child and the man she loved could barely hide his resentment. Her son had watched his mother's violation and withdrawn from her; and as hard as she tried she could not halt the searing wound from the truth of her father's death.

‘We should leave with the others and then go our own way, my lady. I'll take a dozen men with us for escort. We can't travel in darkness and we'll need a pack horse with provisions,' Guillaume said.

‘Thank you. We will always be in your debt.'

She left him and went back to the children. Guillaume's conflict was eased by his promise to protect his master's family with his life, but his loyalty still lay with his sworn lord, Sir Thomas Blackstone.

Will Longdon, half drunk, was sprawled on a makeshift bed of straw beneath a blanket. He lay like a child, one arm outstretched as if for comfort across his war bow. He gagged when Guillaume's hand covered his mouth and smothered his snoring. Longdon's strength twisted him around, dragging him from the dark recess of his slumber. As strong as the archer was the young squire easily held him, until his eyes focused and he acknowledged the gesture of silence.

‘Master Guillaume, I nearly pissed my breeches,' he said quietly. His immediate fear was that Christiana had laid a complaint against him for having approached her.

Guillaume was kneeling next to him, but looked furtively over his shoulder into the night. ‘I only found you because you snort like a pig and smell like one.'

‘There's been little time for bathing, Master Guillaume; some of us have been in some hard fighting.'

Guillaume was being slighted, but veteran fighters like Will Longdon were permitted some leeway, providing their superiors allowed it. He thrust a flask of water into Longdon's chest. ‘Swill your mouth and freshen your mind. I need you awake to carry a message.'

Longdon did as ordered, rinsed his stale mouth and spat to one side. Then he splashed water onto his face. Guillaume waited, and watched to see that the man was at last alert.

‘Can you find your way back to Sir Thomas?'

‘Aye, course I can. It's why he sent me, to bring you and the others.'

‘By night,' Guillaume said.

The burning torch Guillaume held Longdon's creased face in flickering light, his disbelief unmistakable. ‘A fox wouldn't find him. The trails twist like a gutted dog's bowels. No, not by night.'

Guillaume needed time and the darkness denied it him. ‘All right. Leave at first light. Lady Christiana will attend mass; you must reach Sir Thomas long before the men reach the rendezvous. Ride ahead – is there one of your men who can lead the others?'

‘Aye, I can choose one. Master Guillaume, what's happening? Is there trouble?'

The young squire hesitated. How much of his lord's affairs should he tell the common archer? ‘Tell Sir Thomas I ride north and west with Lady Christiana and the children and a small escort. We seek to cross the Rhone and return to Normandy.'

It made no sense to Longdon. ‘Normandy? Is there a reason? My Lord Blackstone'll press me for an explanation.'

‘Deliver the information and tell him I'll ride as slowly as I can.'

‘You want him to find you?'

‘Just give him the information. What he does with it is his decision.' There was nothing more Guillaume could tell him. ‘When you leave, do so quietly. Don't raise suspicion. Behave as if you're going to scout ahead. Give the authority of leading the others to one of your men. Understand?'

The archer nodded.

‘I'll pick a better horse for you. Ride hard, and earn my gratitude.' Guillaume stepped away. Longdon would do as asked, if only to keep Sir Thomas's squire in his debt.

The mountain mist was slow to clear, clinging tenaciously to the valleys as Guillaume checked his bridle and rein, wishing he too could linger. By the time Christiana had attended mass Will Longdon was already away from the kinsman's sanctuary, leading the men towards Blackstone. The old man begged Guillaume to change his mind.

‘All routes are dangerous; you'll ride into more routiers. They're seeping out of France like pus from a squeezed boil.'

‘My lady asks for my protection; I can't deny her.'

‘Wait here a few more days – let Sir Thomas make his way back and convince her otherwise.'

Guillaume shook his head. ‘If I don't escort her and the children she'll ride off alone.'

‘High-born or low-, women will ruin a man,' the old man said. ‘I swear they're Satan's gate.' He paid no heed to the young man's look of disapproval. ‘She's your master's woman, but if I were you I would tie her to a stake and keep her here until he came back for her.'

The escort of a dozen hobelars waited as Christiana climbed into the saddle, and a household servant lifted Agnes into her arms. Marazin scowled and, ignoring the young squire, strode towards Christiana.

‘Madam, you place yourself and your children in harm's way. I beg you to reconsider. I have given my pledge to Father Niccolò, and am obliged to the Holy Father to secure your safety as you pass through these mountains,' he said, grabbing her horse's rein.

‘I thank you, Lord Marazin, but I have a journey of my own,' she said.

‘You commit a felony by not obeying your lord and husband. I have the right to detain you until word reaches him,' the old man answered.

Christiana spoke kindly to him: ‘My husband's squire would then be obliged to stop you in my defence. You outnumber us so he, and these men, would die. The enmity from my husband would never be erased. You've shown us kindness and offered your protection, and I've prayed in the chapel of our Holy Mother, the Virgin Mary. I lay myself upon her grace as any mother would do. Beyond that my life rests in Master Guillaume's hands.'

‘Very well, madam, but you'll take heed of the advice I give to him? He needs a better route from here than you've planned,' he said.

She nodded her assent.

Marazin returned to Guillaume. ‘You've barely a chance to reach the river. Go north – then west. There's more than one mountain trail. I'll send a guide with you,' he offered.

‘I'm grateful, my lord; that was my intended route. I've already sent word to Sir Thomas in the hope he'll intercept us,' Guillaume said quietly.

‘Then you've more sense than I gave you credit for. We'll offer our prayers for your safe delivery into Sir Thomas's hands.'

Lord Marazin's guide led them from the fortified manor's sanctuary. The old man watched as the stubborn mist closed about them.

Like ghosts of the unforgiven, they were gone.

De Marcy's slow-moving train of horsemen and wagons, clerks, monks and whores who straggled behind his main force, needed an uncontested route through the mountains to a place held by one of Visconti's commanders, Alfonso Girolami, who held a fort that guarded a pass into Visconti's territory. It needed few men to hold such a castle, because the narrow valley allowed enemies to be easily halted.

Less than half a day's ride from the Savage Priest's column, Lord Marazin's guide found that the intended route was blocked by a rockfall; there was no alternative but to turn back and find another way. He took Guillaume and his charges across a high ridge, a steep but shorter route to the other track, and while silhouetted against the skyline they were seen by a group of de Marcy's scouts. A half-dozen men, a woman and children were of little interest, except that the Savage Priest had alerted his outriders to watch out for Blackstone. If these stragglers proved to be Blackstone's family who had been left to catch up with his main force, de Marcy realized that the great English knight had made a grave error.

Hours later Guillaume's horses picked their way down the hillside, and then settled more sure-footedly on the track. Guillaume turned back to watch Christiana, who needed to balance herself and Agnes as her horse swayed downhill. It was then that a group of de Marcy's men simultaneously attacked both ends of the track. Panic gripped Guillaume's party, restricted as they were to fighting on the narrow road, unable to retreat back up the hillside or plunge downhill on the other side of the track.

Guillaume reached for Christiana's bridle and yanked the horse to him to keep her close. The escort was outnumbered, but the narrowness gave them an unexpected advantage, allowing them to defend against the dozen men at each end whose horses jammed and shouldered each other. Two lost their footing and slid downhill, unseating their riders.

‘This way!' Guillaume cried, wheeling the horses to the weakened end of the track, taking the lead with another hobelar to drive a wedge among the enemy's panicking mounts. The ferocity of their attack, and their deliberate blinding of the horses as their first strike, caused the congested riders to flounder. Screaming horses reared and fell; men tumbled onto stony ground as Guillaume's sword blows maimed and killed. They had fought their way clear, but had lost half their men. Spurring their horses, pursued by the surviving enemy, they galloped hard. The road ahead swept downwards and the guide shouted for Guillaume to swerve into the spindly new growth of a forest. Christiana cried out as she almost lost her grip on Agnes. Guillaume reached out, snatched the child and pulled her to him. Christiana fought the horse, holding the pommel for balance, and then whipped its flank with the reins.

Riding hard, they could see that their pursuers had slowed, for losing sight of their prey meant they in turn could be ambushed; but Guillaume urged his group on to the lower reaches of the valley. If they could make the open ground and ford the small river that lay below, they would have the advantage of turning and facing vulnerable horsemen. It seemed they were going to make it, but as the horses barged around the final bend of forest track, Christiana's horse stumbled again, and she fell into the bushes and undergrowth. Guillaume reined in his horse, and turned back as Christiana painfully got to her feet, the frightened horse already cantering into the forest.

‘Go! Save Agnes!' she cried.

Guillaume's hesitation, and that of the men around him as they wheeled their horses, lost them their slender lead. Three of their pursuers were upon her as the others slowed and halted. Guillaume's men had their backs to a rock face; their only escape still lay in the valley, but de Marcy's men now held the high ground.

‘Surrender and live!' one of de Marcy's men called.

‘Attack, Master Guillaume,' one of his men urged. ‘Drop the child and go at them.'

Before Guillaume could answer one of the men held a knife at Christiana's throat. Agnes screamed, Henry urged his horse forward, but one of the men grabbed his reins. ‘It's too late for that, lad. They have us.'

As Guillaume and the men threw down their weapons, the guide turned his horse and galloped for the valley. De Marcy's men let him go; he was of no interest to them. They already held the prize.

Will Longdon's horse shivered with exhaustion, its flanks lathered white with sweat, its blood-filled nostrils flaring for air. The poor beast had been whipped by one of the archer's arrows as he urged it across the demanding terrain for hours on end in a desperate attempt to reach his friend and warlord. Within minutes of him finding Blackstone and Killbere breaking camp at the burnt-out village, it went down on its knees and shuddered in its death throes.

Longdon's gaunt face showed the strain of what must have been a terrifying ride. Blackstone listened to the message sent by Guillaume. He rested a hand on the archer's shoulder, his thoughts desperate to understand what might have prompted Christiana's decision to ride back to Normandy.

‘Tell me everything that happened when you got back to the men,' he instructed Longdon. He recounted the instructions he had been ordered to relate to the young squire, but then his hesitation in the telling of it made him realize that he must have played some part in the events that followed. Blackstone saw the shadow of doubt cross the man's face.

‘I may have spoken out of turn, Sir Thomas. I reminded her that we had fought together, as common men, as archers. I forgot the hatred the French held for us.'

Blackstone considered for a moment and then shook his head. ‘She holds no malice for us now, Will. She's not a frightened girl any longer. Did she say anything when you told her?'