The Last Conquest (16 page)

William Capra pulled on the rein he was dragging until the horse was level with him. Another was tied behind.

‘What do you think of these?’

Ralph whistled in appreciation, then glanced round furtively to see if they were observed. Capra reassured him.

‘Do not distress yourself. Nobody saw me. Which was just as well.’

Pomeroy looked alarmed. ‘You mean to say . . .?’

Capra shrugged. ‘Not my fault. I went with a pocketful of silver, ready and willing to do some trading. But nobody was there. Giffard, apparently, has the flux, and is laid out. Not
surprising, at his age. Must be past it. And the little Magyar was out exercising some of the new mounts.’

‘What about the grooms?’

Capra made a dismissive gesture. ‘A few bloody noses and a couple of tips saw to that.’ He patted the wallet on his belt. ‘So we have the horses
and
the money. Not a
bad morning’s work. Better than slaving away at fatigues with that bastard Florens breathing down your neck.’

Pomeroy looked nervous. ‘Will he not know?’

‘Know what?’

Pomeroy made a vague wave with his hand. ‘You know – about the jerkins.’

Capra made a face. ‘I expect so. But he can prove nothing. And he probably stole them himself in the first place. It will make up for them cutting our first day’s pay. In any case,
we are not going back, are we?’

Pomeroy looked blank. ‘No?’

‘No, my brother. We are going to take our new destriers, and we are going to find some proud detachment of knights – proper knights. No more of your mud-stained, foot-weary
mercenaries. And we are going to carve out glorious careers for ourselves. I think I have rather taken a fancy to his Grace Bishop Odo of Bayeux. He looks a likely prospect.’

Ralph Pomeroy blinked. ‘A bishop? Would not his brother be a better bet?’

‘Mortain? No. Too stupid. I have seen them. My lord Odo has a head on his shoulders, for all that it is somewhat small. My lord Odo looks out for himself. I like a man who does that. Sits
at the Bastard’s right hand. Another point in his favour. We can do ourselves a lot of good there, my brother.’

Pomeroy looked at the horses. ‘Suppose the Magyar comes looking for them? Suppose he tells Giffard?’

Capra snapped his fingers. ‘Like Florens, he can prove nothing. He can not even guess. We change the shoes, refashion the mane, renew the tack, and pah! Who will take the word of a dirty
little Hunnish barbarian against a knight of Normandy?’

Pomeroy still looked worried. ‘I only hope you are right.’

Capra patted the neck of the leading horse. ‘Your trouble, brother, is that you lack nerve and style. Confidence. That is the secret. You assume that everybody knows what you do. They do
not.’

‘I still think it is asking for trouble,’ Pomeroy grumbled.

‘Only if we stay and wait for it to catch up with us.’

Pomeroy looked up. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, brother, that we kill two birds with one stone. For a day or so we nobly offer ourselves for the distasteful work of the wasting parties. Thus, we can stay out of harm’s
way, and you never know what tempting morsels we may pick up in the line of duty. When the hue and cry dies down, we seek out my lord Odo.’

He handed over the reins of the second horse.

‘Which reminds me. How did you fare with the candlesticks?’

Pomeroy glowered. ‘Everyone laughed.’

‘Up there.’ Ralph waved an arm towards the crest of the hill.

Gilbert hastened alongside.

‘Nothing is there,’ he said.

‘Then we should get a good clear view,’ said Ralph.

‘Just an old apple tree,’ said Gilbert lamely.

‘Then we have nothing to daunt us.’

Sandor caught up beside Gilbert.

‘Only old apples,’ he whispered.

Gilbert flushed as he recalled his illness and its cause. He looked sidelong in guilt. Had he told Sandor? He could not remember.

They reached the tree and saw that it stood on a ridge just below the true summit, which lay a short distance to the north.

‘Why do you want to come here?’ persisted Gilbert, and instantly cursed himself for his mistake. Any scout naturally made for the high ground in a strange area.

Ralph looked at him oddly, but said nothing. He refrained from asking more questions, which might reveal yet other mistakes that Gilbert might have made. The last thing he wanted was
Bruno’s eyebrows saying ‘what did I tell you?’

He dismounted and tied his horse to the lichen-covered trunk of the apple tree. He arched his back and stretched his legs. Gilbert, Bruno, and Sandor waited.

‘That is the way we go,’ said Gilbert, still nervous. He pointed north-westwards.

‘So I see,’ said Ralph.

‘Shall we go on then?’ suggested Gilbert, making to move away.

‘All in good time.’

Something was disturbing the boy. Ralph did not know whether he wanted to find it or not. He walked slowly round the tree, not sure what he was looking for. To Gilbert his slowness was
infuriating.

‘I have made my report,’ he said. ‘I have seen all this.’

‘And I have not,’ said Ralph. ‘But I intend to before I make mine.’

Bruno stood in his stirrups and gazed about him. With his great legs straight, he looked enormous.

‘This would make a good position,’ he said.

Ralph shook his head and trudged back to his horse.

‘Depends rather on which way you are facing. If we occupied it against Harold coming from the north, we should have to cut down a lot of cover on our flanks. Behind us the ground declines
a little too rapidly for an ordered retreat.’

‘And look,’ said Sandor. He pointed to a marshy stream that wound round the south side of the hill. It ran near the small grassy knoll close to its foot where Bruno had picked up
Gilbert’s trail the previous day. ‘There is a sandlake.’

Even Gilbert joined in the laughing. Sandor looked surprised.

‘But there is sand, is there not? And a lake?’

‘No, Sandor,’ said Gilbert. ‘It is not a lake; it is a stream. But there is sand. If you like, a sandstream.’

Sandor shook his head. ‘No. If I say that, I am like an angry snake.’

He looked down the hill again and watched the waters of the stream spreading in shallow side pools around the foot of the small knoll. Patches of yellow flashed between the green of the grass
tussocks.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I shall say “sandlake”. It is gentle for my weary tongue.’

Ralph smiled, and patted him on the ankle as he stood beside the light pony that Sandor preferred to ride.

‘Have it your own way, Sandor.’ He grinned up at Bruno. ‘What is it called, Bruno?’

‘It is called a sandlake,’ said Bruno solemnly.

Ralph continued his reconnaissance, and tried to ignore Gilbert’s restlessness. What on earth was the boy trying to hide?

He remounted, and walked his horse to the true summit a little way further north.

‘See a long way from here.’

Bruno nodded. ‘Good, open ground.’

‘Yes, apart from this damned gorse. Let us see if there are any tracks in or out of those woods.’

He pointed northwards, and kicked his horse down the shallow slope. Perhaps if they got away from the summit, Gilbert would become less anxious.

‘Be careful!’ called Gilbert. ‘There is a ravine at the bottom.’

Ralph, with Bruno at his side, was too far ahead to hear him.

‘I said, “Be careful!”’ shouted Gilbert.

They cantered on, Bruno edging into the lead.

Swearing to himself, Gilbert kicked his horse into a gallop. Sandor, mystified, followed, after a careful glance behind.

‘What the devil . . .?’

Ralph was knocked aside as Gilbert overtook him.

‘Stop! Stop!’

Gilbert galloped on, leaned out and snatched at Bruno’s bridle. They came to a halt in a flurry of thudding hooves and flying tussocks of grass. Bruno’s horse stumbled and nearly
fell.

Bruno dismounted in fury.

‘You fool! Do you want her to go lame? Can you not cry out?’

‘I did. You were deaf. What else was I to do?’

‘Explain yourself. That is what you do.’

Bruno examined Sorrel’s legs.

Gilbert flung out an arm. ‘Look! If it were not for me, you and Sorrel would be down there.’

Bruno peered. ‘I see nothing, unless it is—’ He broke off when he saw the tops of trees growing from the ravine’s banks.

Ralph arrived and dismounted. He parted the undergrowth.

‘God’s Breath, that is well masked.’

‘You see?’ said Gilbert in triumph.

Bruno grunted.

‘Is it steep?’ he said to Ralph.

‘Yes.’

‘You should be grateful,’ said Gilbert. ‘Grateful.’

‘Yes, yes, yes . . .’ said Bruno over his shoulder as he moved to his left. ‘There is an avenue of some kind here.’ He walked his horse further. ‘An old causeway, I
should say. So there is a way across.’

Ralph joined him.

‘It looks very old. Crumbling – see?’

Gilbert, indignant, watched them musing and pointing. He turned to Sandor, who had just arrived.

‘Look at that. I save them from breaking their necks, and they take no notice. None at all.’

‘Ah!’ said Sandor non-committally. He wandered to the right. ‘See?’ he said. ‘Somebody here did fall.’

He pointed to the gap that Gilbert had made two days before.

‘Well, it was not me,’ said Gilbert, and cursed his tongue once more.

Sandor said nothing. He dismounted, and clambered carefully down into the ravine. He called up, and pointed to broken stalks and twisted brambles.

‘Here he fell.’

‘Oh, yes?’ said Gilbert as casually as he dared.

Sandor went right down to the tiny stream at the bottom. He looked about, and called up again.

‘The man who was not you rested here – and crawled to here.’

Gilbert looked anxiously towards Ralph and Bruno, but they were still discussing their causeway.

Suddenly Sandor stooped.

‘Come up, Sandor,’ pleaded Gilbert. ‘Now,’ he added urgently.

Sandor scrambled back over the rim and pulled leaves off his jerkin. His eyes twinkled.

‘You were lucky not to break the neck,’ he said.

Having begun the lie, Gilbert felt bound to it.

‘I tell you I did not fall.’

‘Ah!’

Ralph came back with Bruno.

‘We must move on.’

‘I am all for that,’ said Gilbert.

Ralph threw another searching look at him, and remounted. Bruno, after a further examination of Sorrel’s legs, did the same. As they moved off, Sandor held Gilbert back. His other hand was
inside his jerkin.

‘You did not fall, you say?’

Gilbert looked furtively to make sure the other two were out of earshot. ‘No, I tell you!’

‘Ah! Then it is perhaps you will not want this, as it is not yours.’

Sandor took his hand from his jerkin, and held out a spur.

Sir Roger of Montgomery dismounted and handed the reins to a groom. A body servant took his helmet and gloves, and stood at a discreet distance. Bishop Geoffrey of Montbrai
wiped his lips and held out a leather flask. Montgomery took it.

‘Thank you.’

Detachments of knights waited, muttering in small groups. One or two sour looks were cast in their direction.

‘Give them a rest,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Then we go again.’

Montgomery shook his head doubtfully. ‘You will not get perfection, Geoffrey.’

‘No harm in trying,’ said Geoffrey.

Montgomery tossed the flask to the servant.

‘Geoffrey, there you talk like a bishop, if I may say so. These are not saints, or heroes, but mortal men. I have to lead them; I know.’

‘You do not see the whole picture,’ said Geoffrey. ‘You do not see what I see.’

‘Seeing everything is not knowing everything. There are some things you know from inside, not from outside.’

Geoffrey sighed, and slapped his thigh with his glove in impatience. ‘I am responsible to the Duke. I must get the very best out of them.’

‘Geoffrey, they were good this morning – the best they have ever been. Surely you agree.’

Geoffrey inclined his head. ‘Well, yes . . . But if only—’

‘If only nothing! If we took them up and back a dozen more times, we should not improve on what we have already achieved today. Let them see some small sign of approval. Give them a change
– a few hours for rest, for maintenance, gossip, drink – anything.’

Geoffrey did not look convinced. ‘Now there, Roger, you talk like a squadron commander. If you were training a whole army of knights, you would talk differently. The vast majority of these
men are stupid, vicious, and undisciplined, and well you know it. The fact that they sit astride a horse does not raise them above the animals in the infantry when it comes to military intelligence
and initiative. Relax for one moment, and they revert to their basest habits.’

Roger gave a slight smile of irony. ‘Are we not also knightly born?’

Geoffrey was not in the least put out. ‘We have added talent and loyalty to our right to rule. That is why we command and they follow. And they will continue to follow only if we continue
to rule.’

Montgomery tried a different line of argument.

‘Geoffrey, listen. When you took over the training command in May, you had the worst task in the whole army. The Duke would not have entrusted it to you if he had not thought highly of
your ability. I agree with his judgement. You have done wonders. I should think we now have the finest and best-organised corps of heavy cavalry in Christendom out there in front of us.’

‘I thank you.’

‘I mean it,’ said Roger. ‘Ever since early summer, we have followed your lead – and your instructions – even when we had misgivings about them.’

‘You mean Walter and the trumpets.’

Montgomery made a dismissive gesture. ‘If you like, yes. Walter believes in speaking his mind. But there are other things. Walter and I discuss them, but we do not trouble you with them
because they are not your worry. This time, though, since Walter is not here, it is I who must speak out.’

Geoffrey was impressed. It was one of the longest speeches he had ever heard Roger make.

‘What are you saying?’