The Last Conquest (33 page)

Godric searched hastily through the contents of his waist wallet. He had very little that was suitable. He would have to make do.

Capra came puffing back with water and the small cup.

Godric tested it. Half cold. It should have been wine too; he had not thought in time. Still, no matter; it would have to do. He squeezed some juice from the herb into the water, threw in the
rest, and stirred it. Then he strained it off into the small cup. He looked at the two Normans.

‘Hold him softly, but not loosely.’

They hesitated.

Godric reassured them. ‘He will soon be still, but I am in haste and do not wish to spill any. He does not know what you are doing and he will not remember when he wakes. Tell them,
Edwin.’

They swallowed nervously, but obeyed.

They watched, interested in spite of themselves, as Godric carefully poured the contents of the cup into Fulk’s ear.

The twitchings subsided, and Fulk lay still.

‘It is over,’ said Godric. Edwin translated.

‘You mean, dead?’ said Capra, alarmed.

‘No. Sleeping.’

Just then Gilbert and Sandor arrived.

When they heard what had happened, Sandor was the quicker to take advantage of the situation.

He took Capra aside and offered him a large mug.

‘Try this,’ he said. ‘It is the best, from the Duke’s own kitchen.’

Capra was very glad of it. Sandor noticed that his hand shook slightly. Strange, he thought, how sickness sapped a man’s courage much more than death.

He leaned his head close to Capra’s and lowered his voice. ‘My friend will help you to carry him. To the Turk – quickly – in case the big Saxon has given the wrong
medicine. I will stay and help your brother to guard the prisoners. Also I must talk with the fair one. My friend is a little shy, so I must arrange the – the affair. You
understand?’

Sandor gave him a nudge. Capra, his courage revived by the beer, let out a snigger.

Sandor became even more confidential. ‘I am thinking,’ he said. ‘You have been on guard a long time. It is maybe you would like relief – a good rest, a story or
two.’

Capra looked interested.

‘I have a friend who tells good stories,’ Sandor continued innocently. ‘The best.’

‘You mean Taillefer? Stupid old sot!’

‘I speak of when he is sober. Last night he tell stories to make the hair walk about on the neck.’

‘So?’

‘So – I can arrange for him to tell them to you. He is not greedy; just a few silver pieces. Think about your loot after the battle. You can have a rest, a good meal, a good drink,
and a good story. My friend Gilbert and I will guard for you, and Gilbert can see to his – um – tender matter. Sir Baldwin will never know. Is it a bargain?’

Capra hesitated. ‘When?’

Sandor spread his hands. ‘When better than now? My friend is, shall we say, eager. Ask what your brother thinks. I can send word to Taillefer.’

Capra and Pomeroy muttered together.

‘Hurry!’ said Sandor, pointing to Fulk.

Capra turned back to the Magyar. ‘Only three pieces, mind. No more.’

Sandor nodded vigorously. ‘It is a just price. It is not easy to get the better of you, I can see. So be it.’

Sandor walked over to Gilbert.

‘It is arranged,’ he said solemnly. ‘You go with Capra now. You carry the Bloodeye to his Turkish shadow. I stay with Pomeroy to guard, and I pretend to talk with the Saxon for
you.’ He placed himself with his back to Capra, and gave Gilbert a broad wink. Then he whispered, ‘Warn Taillefer to be ready.’

‘He is your third liar?’ said Gilbert quietly.

‘I hope,’ said Sandor. ‘If he is awake. And bring tools for the chains.’

When Capra and Gilbert had staggered off with Fulk slumped between them, Sandor offered a drink to Ralph Pomeroy, who gulped it greedily.

‘You hear the bargain,’ said Sandor. He jerked his head towards Edwin. ‘Now I go to talk to the fair one about – you know—’

Ralph leered.

Sandor became confidential again. ‘I must speak with him in English. You must know, it is a little delicate. I have to settle a price.’

The Norman lifted his head in agreement.

Sandor ambled casually to where Edwin was tied.

‘Listen with care. I must cause you to look in surprise and also in shock. You understand? So that the guard is deceived.’

Edwin nodded.

‘So,’ said Sandor. We – Gilbert and I – help you to escape. Soon. Be ready.’

As Sandor had expected, Edwin registered the necessary surprise.

Ralph Pomeroy smirked to himself.

Edwin frowned. ‘Why are you doing this? We are Saxon.’

‘Gilbert is my friend,’ said Sandor. ‘He is also your friend, and he remembers what you did for him. He wants no harm to those at the mill. You must warn them before he does
anything bad.’

‘Who?’

‘The big man with the scar, the one who fell.’

Edwin still looked puzzled. ‘And you? Why are you doing this?’

Sandor inclined his head slightly towards Pomeroy. ‘They stole two of my horses. Two of my babies. I want revenge. Is that enough?’

Edwin nodded. ‘So I use you and you use me – is that it?’

‘Just, is it not? And now, remember. I said I must cause you shock. It is part of our plan.’

‘How?’

‘It would take too long,’ said Sandor. ‘Just listen and answer.’

Sandor stirred some leaves with his foot, his memory toying with a thought that had struck him when he had first visited the mill.

‘You had a love,’ he said. ‘Across the sea, in Normandy. She is dead?’

Edwin’s jaw dropped.

Sandor stole a glance at Pomeroy, who turned away to chuckle to himself.

‘You miss her?’ said Sandor.

Edwin nodded.

‘You still love her?’

Edwin nodded again, his face ashen.

‘Is it possible your love had a child after you left?’

Edwin looked thunderstruck. It was a while before he found his voice.

‘I have no idea. I have had no word since – since—’

Sandor spoke quietly. ‘You are doing well. I am sorry for the questions, but it is for the plan. The guard must think that we want you to stay here, not to go. You see?’

‘Yes,’ said Edwin, distressed and confused.

Sandor glanced once more at Pomeroy. The plan was going very well indeed.

All they had to do now was wait for Gilbert and Capra to return. Then there was only one anxious moment when Sir Baldwin looked in on his rounds. Sandor kept in the background while the two
brothers were questioned.

Surly but satisfied, Baldwin hung about afterwards. Sandor and Gilbert began to fidget. At last Baldwin went up to Edwin.

‘Um – your friends at the mill. They have always been there?’

‘Yes,’ said Edwin. ‘Gorm – he is the miller – occupied it about twenty-odd years ago. He married the old miller’s daughter.’

Baldwin harrumphed. ‘I see, yes. Yes. This Gorm – what manner of man is he?’

Edwin thought of the sweaty palms, the beery breath, the bad temper, the tiny, fear-shot eyes.

‘He is a skilful miller. He is a Dane from East Anglia. A freeman.’

‘A freeman? Ah! Hmm. A freeman. Yes. Well, I must be getting on.’ He turned to Capra. ‘Keep your eyes open, you two, or watch out for your backs. For your backs. Carry
on.’

Everyone sighed with relief when he had gone.

Gilbert passed round the food and drink that he had brought with him. Sandor was careful to see that Capra and Pomeroy were served first, and amply. While they munched and guzzled, he threw a
question at Gilbert with his eyes. Gilbert nodded.

‘So,’ said Sandor, turning to the two brothers, ‘all is in readiness. Gilbert says that Taillefer awaits you, with his eye bright and his tongue sharp.’

‘And his hand open,’ added Gilbert, catching the spirit of it.

Pomeroy belched. ‘He will be paid when he is finished.’

‘And if we feel like it,’ said Capra.

Sandor inclined his head by way of agreement. ‘Good sense, good sense. Many times I tell my friend here how sensible you are. A hundred minstrels could not deceive you.’

Capra growled.

Sandor clapped his hands. ‘And now, be rested. You have deserved it. And you are very generous to allow my friend the chance to . . .’ He pointed to the blankets under
Gilbert’s arm and gave a most expressive gesture.

Pomeroy and Capra went off in a gale of raucous laughter.

‘There is no haste,’ called Sandor after them.

‘Slow starter, is he?’ bawled Capra, as they disappeared towards the main camp.

Gilbert was still blushing. ‘Sandor, how can you do it?’

Sandor was still gazing after them. ‘Remember, my friend – more honey and less vinegar.’ He waved a hand in their direction. ‘Now they are not only deceived; they are
content. Truly flattery is the best weapon of the Devil.’

‘Oh?’ said Gilbert vaguely.

Sandor looked surprised at his ignorance. ‘It is the one chosen by the Devil against your Lord. Come.’

They loosened Edwin’s ropes. Gilbert dug out some tools from inside the blankets. Sandor broke the fetters on Godric’s wrists and ankles.

‘When do we go?’ demanded Edwin.

‘Patience,’ said Sandor. ‘First you eat. Then you get warm. Gilbert, the blankets.’

Gilbert wrapped one round the shoulders of each of the two prisoners.

Edwin huddled down into it, suddenly more conscious of the cold and stiffness in his joints.

‘Why do they not suspect? Why did they not question you about the blankets?’

Gilbert and Sandor looked at each other. Gilbert felt himself blushing again.

Sandor put on a solemn expression. ‘It is a very deep plan, you understand. It would take much time to explain.’

Gilbert blew quietly in relief.

‘So,’ said Sandor. ‘Eat, and be warm. Then walk about. You will not get far if your legs will not bend nor your ankles turn. Keep the ropes close by, and watch. I go for a
while.’

‘Where?’ said Gilbert.

‘Horses,’ said Sandor. ‘You must have horses. Two Saxons walking near a Norman camp – men will suspect. But two Saxons riding – there must be a good reason. So they
will not suspect.’

While Sandor was gone, nobody could think of anything to say. Gilbert paced nervously. It seemed hours before Sandor returned. He had five horses with him, fully equipped and ready for
travel.

Gilbert almost fell on them in his relief.

‘At last!’

Sandor put a hand on his arm. ‘We wait for Taillefer,’ he said. ‘To make sure of the plan.’

It was further agony for Gilbert. Even Sandor began to show signs of agitation.

When the minstrel finally arrived, he did not look well.

‘It is a long way without a horse,’ he wheezed.

There were spots of dried blood on his jerkin. Taillefer also seemed to be having trouble with his back.

He waved away Sandor’s look of concern.

‘Our two friends were a little impatient. When I told them my voice was tiring, they beat me with the flat of their swords to – er – revive it.’

‘And you have been coughing,’ said Gilbert.

Taillefer looked down at the stains on his clothes, then raised his head and eased his shoulders painfully.

‘At first I joined Sandor’s plan for mischief. Later, for money. Now, I am in it for revenge.’

‘You remember the plan?’ said Sandor anxiously.

‘I put it in,’ said Taillefer.

‘Put what in?’ said Gilbert.

‘The last touch,’ said Sandor. ‘I ask the Turk to give me a medicine; it goes in the drink to make a man sleep. We use it in Hungary, in my country. We get it from the old
priests of the wide plains. It is very strong. The Turk, who knows many things, knows also of this. You do that, Taillefer?’

Taillefer nodded emphatically. ‘Indeed, my friend, in the fullest measure. And I added a small touch of my own. Your Turkish doctor also gave me some medicine, to purge the bowel. Our two
gallants refused to pay me. Since they refused to loosen their pockets, I have taken the liberty of loosening their stomachs.’ He lifted his eyebrows expressively and looked at everyone in
turn. ‘I should estimate that our two additions to their liquid refreshment should prove sufficient to immobilise them for a while.’

Everyone laughed.

‘Which one acts first?’ asked Gilbert.

Taillefer spread his hands. ‘Does it matter? They wake up lying in it, or they drop off and fall in it. Either way, we leave them in a most satisfactory situation –
dans la
merde
. Shall we be on our way?’

Besides taking the straight route out into open country and not through the camp, there was, as Sandor had said, scant need of further precaution. Edwin and Godric pulled up their hoods to hide
their long hair. To any but an inquisitive observer, they were most likely a small group of troopers and grooms exercising horses. They did not go fast; Taillefer was clearly unwell, and Godric was
no horseman, certainly not on a Norman destrier. If any stray sentry or lounger threw a remark at them, Gilbert dealt with the answers.

‘Truly,’ said Sandor with a smile, ‘you are becoming a better liar. You see? All you need is practice. Eh, Taillefer?’

Taillefer grunted in agreement, but said nothing. His face was grey.

‘What is it, Taillefer?’ said Gilbert.

Taillefer tried to smile, not very successfully.

‘I am afraid that repeated blows on the back with the flat of the sword are not conducive to comfortable riding.’

Sandor looked anxiously at him, then said to Edwin, ‘It is perhaps we can not escort you very far. We become slower and slower. See that hill, the one with the sandlake at the
bottom?’

‘That? I think it is called Caldbec in English.’

‘We call it Senlac,’ said Taillefer, in between coughs.

Sandor glanced at Gilbert, who remained stony-faced, then back at Edwin.

‘I think we leave you by Sandlake,’ he said.

‘I am well enough,’ said Taillefer. ‘I do not wish to spoil a good plan.’ He coughed. ‘Well enough. I can go further.’

When they reached the stream he collapsed.

Godric carried him to some dry ground. He was now bringing up blood again, and seemed feverish. Godric began undoing his upper clothes. Sandor moved to stop him, but Gilbert laid a hand on his
arm.