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guards, probably,’ Thomas said.
    ‘Why don’t they make one group?’ Karyl asked.
    ‘And share the reward?’
    ‘There is a reward?’
    ‘A big one.’
    Karyl grinned. ‘How big?’
    ‘Probably enough to buy you a decent farm in, where is it, Bohemia?’
    Karyl nodded. ‘Have you ever been to Bohemia?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Cold winters,’ he said, ‘I think I’ll stay here.’
    ‘They’ll be searching the city,’ Thomas said, ‘but when they find nothing, then a whole lot more of them will come outside.’
    ‘We’ll be gone.’
    ‘And they’ll guess that.’
    ‘And pursue us?’
    ‘I hope so,’ Thomas said. The horses from the city would likely be well fed and rested, while the horses at the mill had fed sparsely, and if he was to travel fast through the hills he would need good horses. He also needed mail and weapons for Keane and Brother Michael.
    He said as much to Karyl, who turned to look at the monk. ‘A weapon would be wasted on him,’ he said scornfully, ‘but the Irishman looks useful.’
    ‘They both need to look like men-at-arms,’ Thomas said, ‘even if they’re not. And we need spare horses too. We’ll be riding hard.’
    ‘Ambush,’ Karyl said with relish.
    ‘Ambush,’ Thomas agreed, ‘and we need to make it quick, brutal and effective.’ Now that he was with his men he was feeling vengeful. Genevieve’s plight tortured him, even though he assumed she was merely a bargaining piece for Bertille, and Bertille was safe in Castillon d’Arbizon and he doubted that Sir Henri would release her without Thomas’s permission. All the same he wanted to avenge Genevieve, and the anger overflowed when, just before midday, they sprang the ambush.
    It was simplicity itself. Keane and Brother Michael, the two men without mail or helmets, simply showed themselves in an olive grove that was visible to one of the bands searching the countryside. Those men whooped and hollered, put spurs to horses, drew swords and galloped. Keane and Brother Michael ran, vanishing from their pursuers into a small valley where Thomas’s men waited.
    And the anger was spewed into sword-strokes. Six men were in the hunt and they were racing one another to catch the fugitives. The first two were mounted on small fast horses, and they outstripped their companions to gallop over the crest and down into the valley. Their horses were splashing through a tiny stream before they realised that they were in trouble. Thomas’s men closed from both sides as the remaining four hunters thundered over the skyline, saw the melee below, and desperately tried to curb and turn their horses.
    Thomas kicked his horse up the slope. A man wearing the livery of Montpellier was trying to turn away, then changed his mind and swung his sword back at Thomas, who leaned left in the saddle, let the blade slide past his face, then brought his own sword in a savage blow that struck the back of the man’s neck just beneath the helmet rim. He did not bother to see what happened, he knew the man was out of the fight, just drove his horse higher up the slope and rammed the blade at a second man, as Arnaldus, one of the Gascons in the Hellequin, backswung a battleaxe into the man’s face. Karyl had hauled a man out of the saddle, now turned and stabbed down with his sword, and Thomas saw blood spurt higher than Karyl’s battered helmet. Keane was holding one of the first horsemen under the water, drowning him as the two hounds savaged a flailing arm.
    Six men down in fewer seconds and not one of the Hellequin was injured. ‘Keane! Get the horses!’ Thomas shouted.
    A second band of men had seen the first group spur northwards and they were now following, but the sight of mail-clad horsemen waiting at the top of the olive grove dissuaded them. They turned away.
    ‘You,’ Thomas pointed at Brother Michael, ‘find a coat of mail that fits you. Find a helmet, find a sword. Get a horse.’
    They rode north.
     
    Roland de Verrec ordered the horses tied in the ruined nave, then climbed the steep, narrow steps of the bell tower. There was no bell any more, just an open space. Each of the four walls was pierced by a wide arch, the roof was rotted rafters from which most of the tiles had fallen, while the floor creaked dangerously under the weight of his men. ‘The arrows will fly through the arches,’ Genevieve told him.
    ‘Be silent,’ he said and then, because he always tried to be courteous, added ‘please’. He was nervous. The