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week. He said the English had ridden somewhere north of Limoges.’
    ‘And where’s Limoges?’ Thomas wondered. ‘Is Bourges to the east or the west of Limoges?’
    ‘I know it’s north of it,’ Sir Henri said, ‘but I have a mind it’s eastwards of it too? You could ask Father Levonne. He’s travelled a lot.’
    Thomas was trying to make a picture of unknown territory and to fit within that vague idea an estimation of what the armies did. He knew the French were gathering forces, and that the men from southern France were assembling at Bourges while the northerners, under the king, would surely gather somewhere near Paris. But what of the Prince of Wales? He was making another
chevauchée
, a destructive march through the heart of France that left farms burned, mills destroyed, towns ruined, and livestock slaughtered. A
chevauchée
was brutal and cruel, but it left the enemy impoverished. Eventually, if the French wanted to stop the English, they had to come out from their castles and fortresses to fight, and that was when the arrows would fly. Hundreds upon thousands of goose-fledged arrows.
    ‘If I was you,’ Sir Henri said, ‘I’d go westwards. Limoges first, then up to Poitiers and keep going north from there towards Tours. You’re bound to come across the prince somewhere.’
    ‘Is Poitiers in Poitou?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘The man who tried to blind Genevieve might be there,’ Thomas said, and did not add that
la Malice
might be there too, but he was not sure he even believed in
la Malice
.
    ‘And what about Genny?’ Sir Henri asked. ‘Will she stay here?’
    Thomas shook his head. ‘Saint Paul said wives should be submissive to their husbands, but no one bothered to tell Genny that.’
    ‘How is her eye?’
    Thomas grimaced. Genevieve had made herself a leather eye-patch which she hated wearing, but she preferred it to the milky white of her ruined eyeball. ‘Brother Michael thinks she’ll keep it, but it’s blinded.’ He shrugged. ‘She thinks she’s ugly now.’
    ‘Genny couldn’t be ugly if she tried,’ Sir Henri said gallantly. ‘And what about Brother Michael? Will you take him?’
    Thomas grinned. ‘He’s all yours. Give him a crossbow; he should manage to shoot one of those without killing himself.’
    ‘You don’t want him?’
    ‘And watch him despair over Bertille?’
    Sir Henri chuckled. ‘God, he’s fast!’ He was watching the Sire Roland de Verrec, who was fighting two men at once, fending them off with his swift sword. He seemed to do it effortlessly, though the two men attacking him were plainly straining every muscle to get past his parries. ‘He’ll go north with you,’ Sir Henri said.
    ‘He wants to, yes.’
    ‘You know why? He doesn’t want to be the virgin knight any more.’
    Thomas laughed. ‘That’s easily remedied. I’m amazed it isn’t already.’
    Sir Henri watched Roland fight. ‘He’s extraordinary! How did he parry that thrust?’
    ‘Skill,’ Thomas said, ‘and practice.’
    ‘And purity,’ Sir Henri said. ‘He believes his skill lies in his purity.’
    ‘God, I must be such a weakling. Really?’
    ‘Which means he must make Bertille a widow before he can marry her, and he won’t lose his virginity until he is married.’
    ‘Dear God,’ Thomas said. ‘Truly?’
    ‘He says they’re betrothed. Can you be betrothed to a married woman? Anyway, he’s talked to Father Levonne, and reckons he can keep his purity by marrying, but to marry the countess she has to be a widow, so first he has to kill the husband.’
    ‘I hope Father Levonne explained that Labrouillade probably won’t die in battle.’
    ‘He won’t?’ Sir Henri asked.
    ‘Of course not. He’s too rich. He’s worth a fortune as a prisoner. If things go badly for him he’ll surrender, and no one will forgo a vast ransom to help Roland de Verrec lose his virginity.’
    ‘I don’t think our virgin knight has quite reckoned with that,’ Sir Henri said. ‘And what about Sir Robbie?’
    ‘He goes with me,’ Thomas said, his voice sounding grim.
    Sir Henri nodded. ‘You don’t trust him?’
    ‘Let’s say I want him where I can see him.’
    Sir Henri massaged his ankle. ‘His man went back north?’
    Thomas nodded. Sculley had wanted to go back to the Lord of Douglas and so Thomas had thanked him, given him a purse and let him ride north. ‘The last thing he said to me was that he looked forward to killing me,’ Thomas said.
    ‘God, he was a