1356

‘If we fight,’ the older man said, ‘we’d probably lose. We think they might have ten thousand men, so we’re badly outnumbered, we’re exhausted, there’s no food and the damned French have plenty of everything. So if we fight we condemn a lot of good Englishmen and loyal Gascons to death, and the prince doesn’t want that on his conscience. He’s a good man. Too easily distracted by ladies, perhaps, but who’d blame a man for that?’
    Thomas smiled. ‘I knew one of his ladies.’
    ‘You did?’ Sir Reginald sounded surprised. ‘Which one? God knows there are enough.’
    ‘She was called Jeanette. The Countess of Armorica.’
    ‘You knew her?’ The surprise was still there.
    ‘I often wonder what happened to her.’
    ‘She died, God rest her soul,’ Sir Reginald said bleakly, ‘she and her son both. The pestilence.’
    ‘Dear God,’ Thomas said, and made the sign of the cross.
    ‘How did you know her?’
    ‘I helped her,’ Thomas said vaguely.
    ‘I remember now! There was talk that she escaped Brittany with an English archer. That was you?’
    ‘Long time ago now,’ Thomas said evasively.
    ‘She was a beauty,’ Sir Reginald said wistfully. He was silent for a moment and when he spoke again his voice was brusque. ‘One of two things will happen tomorrow, Sir Thomas. One, you hear seven blasts on the trumpet and if you’ve any sense you mount up and ride like hell to escape the cardinal. And two? The French decide they win more by fighting us, which means they’ll attack. And if that happens I want the baggage over the river. The damned French usually take hours to ready for a battle so we’ve a chance to slip away before they know it. And to escape we need this ford. You’ll have help if there’s going to be fighting, but you know as well as I do that nothing goes to plan in a battle.’
    ‘We’ll hold the ford,’ Thomas said.
    ‘And I’ll ask Father Richard to come here before dawn,’ Sir Reginald said, going back to his horse.
    ‘Father Richard?’
    There was the creak of leather as Sir Reginald climbed back into the saddle. ‘He’s one of the Earl of Warwick’s chaplains. You’ll want to hear mass, won’t you?’
    ‘If there’s a fight, yes,’ Thomas said, then helped Sir Reginald find his stirrups. ‘What do you think will happen in the morning?’
    Sir Reginald’s horse stamped on the track. The rider was a dark shadow against a dark sky. ‘I think we’ll surrender,’ Sir Reginald said bleakly. ‘God help me, but that’s what I think.’ He turned the horse and rode towards the hill.
    ‘You can see your way, Sir Reginald?’ Thomas called.
    ‘The horse can. One of us must have some sense.’ He clicked his tongue and the horse’s pace quickened.
    It seemed the night would never end. Darkness was complete, and with it came the sense of doom that darkness brings. The river ran loud over the shallow ford. ‘You should try to sleep,’ Genevieve said, surprising Thomas. She had waded the ford to join him on the northern bank.
    ‘You too.’
    ‘I brought you this,’ she said.
    Thomas held out his hand and felt the familiar heft of his bow. A yew bow, tall as a man, the stave thick in the centre and straight as an arrow. It felt smooth. ‘You waxed it?’ he asked.
    ‘Sam gave me the last of his wool fat.’
    Thomas ran his hand up the stave. At its thick centre, where the arrow rested before the cord sent it on death’s mission, he could feel the little silver plate. It was incised with a yale holding a cup, the badge of the disgraced Vexille family, his family. Would God punish him for casting the Grail into the cold sea? ‘You must be frozen,’ he said.
    ‘I pulled up my skirts,’ she said, ‘and the ford isn’t deep.’ She sat beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. For a time neither spoke, but just stared into the night. ‘So what happens tomorrow?’ she asked.
    ‘It’s today,’ Thomas said bleakly. ‘And it depends on the French. Either they accept the church’s terms or they decide they can do better by beating us. And if they do accept, we ride south.’ He did not tell her that his name was on a list of men who must be surrendered as hostages. ‘I want you to make certain the horses are saddled. Keane will help you. They have to be ready before dawn. And if you hear seven trumpet calls then we go. We go fast.’
    He felt her head nod. ‘And if the trumpet doesn’t call?’ she asked.
    ‘Then the French will come