THE EARL (A HAMMER FOR PRINCES) (20 page)

This lump was alive. When he reached the knights, they were laughing and holding out jugs of wine to a man who sat on the ground with his back against a tree and laughed feebly back at them. Fulk rode into their midst.

“Well, Rabel,” he said. “Are you taking your leave?”

Rabel lifted his head. “My lord, I would not, but I can’t find my comrades.”

Fulk looked around him. “Get back in line and keep moving. Bring me a spare horse.”

Reluctantly, the knights dragged their horses around and moved off. Fulk dismounted and sat down heavily beside Rabel. He still had the wineskin, and he held it out.

“No, I’ve had enough—it only makes me thirsty.” He was pressing his hand against his leg, and when he moved it, blood, black as oil, oozed down his thigh.

“What happened?” Fulk said.

“I don’t know. They attacked us. We were marching in our column and suddenly they attacked us, from all sides. We were spread out too much. We fought, I couldn’t tell who I was fighting, and another band of them attacked, and we all fled—I rode away with some of the Sulwick men, I thought they were my own.”

“The second band was mine,” Fulk said. “Why didn’t you stop and join us?”

Rabel shook his head. “He will not stop.”

“Does Thierry know where he’s going?”

The knight gave a hoarse laugh. “To Sulwick.”

“Where is Simon? Simon d’Ivry.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since sundown. They attacked us at sundown. Maybe he’s dead. He was with Thierry. William is dead, I think, and Miles.” He shut his eyes. “Leave me here. I can find my way.”

“There are wolves all through these fields. Here’s a horse.” Fulk stood and took the reins of a led horse from Roger. “Help me get him into the saddle.”

Roger dismounted, and he and Rabel spoke softly. Fulk led his horse back into the track of the knights. They were already far ahead—he could see them riding along a ridge to the west. Walking back toward Rabel, he held the horse’s bridle while Roger boosted the wounded man up onto its bare back. At the smell of blood the horse skittered nervously sideways.

“Go back the way we came,” Fulk said. “De Brise is coming with the wagons. Tell him to try to catch up with us. Don’t—”

He lifted his head, looking back along the trail, and the distant shout came again. “That’s Godric and his archers. Good. Don’t go too fast, Rabel, or you’ll kill yourself. Give them warning that you’re one of us. Roger, come on.”

“Watch out,” Rabel called. “There are Sulwick men everywhere.”

Fulk and Roger mounted, and the wounded knight started back the way they had come. In tight, neat ranks, Godric’s bowmen were jogging through the light brush down the last hillside. Roger said, “Did he tell you what happened to the vanguard?”

“The Sulwick men attacked them. Thierry’s lost control. We’ll have to gallop to catch up. Let’s go.”

Single file, they raced after the column of knights. In the moonlight the beaten track of the knights showed like a long bruise on the fields. The even rhythm of the horses’ hoofs seemed loud as thunder. They rode up onto the ridge where Fulk had seen the column riding, and the land changed from fallow fields to plowed ground, soft and ridged to catch the horses’ hoofs and trip them. Ahead, the column had stopped again.

“God of angels,” Roger said. “We could follow the trail of bodies. How far are we from Sulwick?”

“Close,” Fulk answered. He spurred his horse into a flat run the last hundred yards. The knights had seen them coming and wheeled, shouting and waving, to welcome them back. Fulk reined in hard and stopped his horse in their midst. Three dead men lay on the ground before him.

“Ours,” a knight said. “Miles of Bâle, Gilbert de Brémule, and Roger Surmelch.”

Fulk licked his lips. We should bury them. We can’t leave them here. He looked around at the knights and saw them watching him expectantly. They were sure he would do what was right. Leave them from de Brise to find. We have to bury them.

Morgan rode up beside him. “My lord, are you—”

Fulk grabbed his arm to keep him quiet. "Listen! Ahead.”

He let go of Morgan; the knights were swinging their horses toward the sound of fighting. “You and you,” Fulk said. “Bring these bodies. The rest of you shall follow me.”

He pushed forward, and they held off so that he could go to the head of the column. Ahead of them, someone was screaming, “Bruyère, Bruyère,” and the knights around Fulk suddenly shouted, “Bruyère,” and plunged forward.

“Roger,” Fulk called. “Take half and go down there.” He waved his arm at the fields at the foot of the long ridge. No sense waiting to see if Roger had heard. Morgan was beside him with his shield, holding his sheathed sword in he crook of one arm, and he reached out with his left hand and drew it awkwardly and sent his horse bolting along the crest of the ridge toward the rising sounds of fighting. With yells and shouted prayers, his army flooded down the slopes around him.

The ridge fell off suddenly into a long steep slope down to a meadow along a stream; Fulk braced himself and gave his horse its head, and the horse skidded down the slope on its hocks, bouncing pebbles and dirt along with it. In the meadow, a great ring of knights was charging a knot of men backed up against the stream’s edge. Those were Thierry’s men, that knot. He saw Thierry among them, waving his sword over this head. The Sulwick knights charged in, and the two groups of horsemen merged into a single black clump of bodies. “God is just!”

The Sulwick men shouted that. Fulk was holding his sword and his reins both in this left hand, the heavy sword braced on his thigh. He shouted, “Bruyère, Bruyère, follow me.” He felt his horse shift its balance, reaching flat ground, and ahead of him, the Sulwick men peeled away from the fighting, warned.

“Bruyère,” Thierry’s men cried. There were outnumbered; Thierry had less than half the men he had started with. They threw themselves on the Sulwick men, and the knights behind Fulk hit the level ground and charged, roaring. The neighing of the horses and the clash of metal swelled into a din so loud Fulk could hear nothing. Beside him, Morgan kept his mare shoulder to shoulder with Fulk’s bay, his shield raised to cover them both. Fulk headed toward the nearest group of Sulwick men and dropped his reins.

Two knights leaped forward to meet him. “God is just!”

One headed for Morgan and the other for him, and he swerved his horse hard to the right. The quick turn caught him in the side and felled him. He looked around behind him and pressed his leg to the horse’s side, and this time the big bay turned, and Morgan appeared on Fulk’s right, white-faced behind the kite shape of the shield.

“Fall back,” someone was screaming, close by. “Fall back, they are by the river, fall back!”

“On,” Fulk cried; his throat was caked with dust, and he croaked, his voice no stronger than an old woman’s. “On, on.” There was a knight behind Morgan, but he was answering the order to fall back, wheeling toward the river, where Roger and his men were riding at a gallop to cut him off. All the knights around Fulk were turning toward the river. They were getting away. He spurred his horse, calling to his men, his voice pleading. Morgan could not keep up and the bay horse would not slow. He chased a knight on a cream-colored horse; the knight reined down to let him draw even, and they hacked and clubbed at each other, side by side, while the horses ran blindly over the meadow.

The knight on the cream-colored horse screamed, “God is just!” and struck at Fulk’s head. The weight of the sword was dragging Fulk’s arm down; he could barely lift it, and every great blow hurt his arm to the shoulder. The bay was too wild to control with his legs. He felt sick to his stomach. He could see nothing but flashes of light. Abruptly the blows ended. His legs were cold. His horse slowed and stopped, and he bent over its neck and retched painfully.

“Here,” Morgan said. “Let me have it. Let me have it, my lord.”

Fulk loosened his fingers so that Morgan could take the sword from him, and with that hand pushed himself upright. His eyes cleared; the air felt wonderfully cool. His horse was standing to its belly in the rushing waters of the stream.

“You murderous man,” Thierry said calmly. “Did you think you could run them down by yourself?”

“I thought I would have from help from you.”

“You got ahead of us,” Roger said. “If you hadn’t stopped you would have ridden off with them.”

Fulk shook his head. Morgan was washing the shoulders of his horse. “They’ll go straight to Sulwick and we’ll have to fight them there.” He backed his horse out of the stream.

“How far is Sulwick?” Thierry said. He looked as strong and cheerful as ever. Fulk’s stomach knotted itself into a huge cramp.

“I’ll show you. Where are your men?”

Thierry said, “They attacked us all night long, we’ve been fighting since—”

“Where are the knights I gave you?” Fulk looked at Simon, behind Thierry. “Where are they?”

“Scattered,” Simon said. He had a lump on his jaw, and his red hair had been plastered down by his helmet, which he held in the crook of his arm. “I don’t think many are dead.”

“Miles is dead,” Fulk said. “We passed him, coming here. What happened? Thierry, which of them disobeyed you?”

“We obeyed him.” Simon leaned forward.

“How did you lose so many?” Fulk said. “Even at night—”

“They attacked us constantly,” Thierry said. “I tell you, there was nothing I could have done—”

“You gave them no chance—why didn’t you keep them together?”

“You lie,” Thierry said, darkening.

“No,” Simon said. “He isn’t lying, it’s the truth. If you had kept us in our column—if you’d only stopped when—"

“It was so dark, no one could see. How could I have—how can you blame me?”

Simon raised his head; his eyes were popping with rage. “It was not dark when I begged you to stop and let Miles catch up with us, my lord. Remember?”

“You never begged me for anything. Except, perhaps, counsel.”

Fulk was rubbing his stomach; he watched their intent faces. Thierry by looks and the weight he gave words had said something to Simon no one else could hear. Simon’s face slackened a little.

“I thought better of you all,” Fulk said. "I thought you better knights than that.”

Simon’s hand rose. “It was not our fault, my lord—”

“Simon,” Thierry said sharply, and Simon looked unwillingly at him and dropped his eyes. Fulk shrugged.

“Roger, take half the men and form a column. Follow this stream that way—” he gestured, “—and soon enough you’ll find Sulwick. Attack when my horn sounds. The rest of you, make a double column, and keep it tight together.”

“Now?” Thierry said, startled. “We marched all yesterday and fought all the night, and now—”

“They won’t expect us now,” Fulk said. He looked up at the ridge they had ridden down from, and saw the first of the archers moving down it. “You had your opportunity to show what an excellent warrior you are, uncle. I consider it dangerous to allow you to continue. Roger, take Godric’s men with you. No need to move fast. Morgan, can you find something to cushion this arm?”

Thierry looked around him, at the other knights. “I refuse this. You drive us like serfs. You are destroying us.”

“Refuse,” Fulk said. “Go. Don’t stop when you reach the coast of
England
, either, but find yourself a ship and sail away.”

Morgan was rolling up a wad of cloth to put under Fulk’s broken arm. The knights were drawing up their columns. Thierry, with his young knights, stayed watching Fulk a moment more. Thierry swore; he turned his horse’s head and rode off a little way. The young knights remained, their yes on Fulk.

“My lord,” Simon began. “It wasn’t our fault, I swear it.”

“Go join your column.”

The young knights rode away. Morgan came up and fixed the pad under his arm. Fulk expected him to say something about Fulk’s riding away from his shield in the fighting, but Morgan did not. In the eastern sky, the stars were fading, and the moon dipped down toward an edge of new light.

"Keep them quiet,” Fulk said to Thierry. The dawn sky was the white of an eggshell, and on the hill above them,
Sulwick
Castle
stood—one round tower, surrounded by an earthworks. All the knights with Fulk carried unlit torches. On the top of the tower, from the slits of windows, the Sulwick men had undoubtedly seen Roger and his column, riding along the far bank of the stream. Occasionally, through the trees that masked this side of the hill, Fulk could see them himself. The sky brightened steadily. The birds were beginning to sing; they ceased abuptly and fluttered away when the knights rode under their trees, but everywhere else the wild clamoring of the birds grew stronger while the sun grew stronger. Fulk held up his hand and reined in his horse.

“Everybody dismount. Do you have the torches? Morgan, come here.”

Morgan kicked his horse up beside Fulk’s. Fulk gave him his horn.

“Stay here and wait until the sun comes up. When it’s all risen, sound this.”

“Why should we leave the horses?” Thierry said. “They can climb that slope.”