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baggage,’ Philippe had explained to Roland, ‘so you just cut the bastards down and help yourself.’
    ‘And the women,’ Jacques had said.
    ‘Oh Jesus, the women. Remember that fight at … where was it?’ Philippe had frowned, trying to remember. ‘Place with the broken bridge?’
    ‘I never knew the name. South of Reims, wasn’t it?’
    Philippe had laughed at the memory. ‘The English were one side of the river and their women on the other. I had four of them tied to my horse’s tail, all of them naked. Jesus, that was a good month.’
    ‘He was hiring them out,’ Jacques had told Roland.
    ‘Except to the count, of course,’ Philippe had said, ‘he got it for nothing on account of being the count.’
    ‘Lords have privileges,’ Jacques had said.
    ‘The privilege not to fight too,’ Philippe had added, sounding resentful.
    ‘He’s too fat,’ Jacques had defended the Count of Labrouillade, ‘but when he does fight he’s a devil! I’ve seen him crush a man’s head, skull, helmet and everything, with one swipe of that morningstar. There was brains everywhere!’
    ‘The fight was already over,’ Philippe had said scornfully. ‘He only joined in when it was safe.’ He had shaken his head at the memory, then looked at Roland. ‘So you’ll be joining us, sire?’
    ‘Joining you?’
    ‘To fight the damned English!’
    ‘When I have completed my …’ Roland had hesitated. He had been about to say ‘quest’, but suspected these two older and more hardened men would mock him for that. ‘… my duty,’ he had said instead.
    So Roland, uncomfortable on the stone stairs, had slept hardly at all. He was galled by the memory of the two men-at-arms’ mocking laughter. He could have defeated either in the lists, but suspected fate would prove very different on the battlefield. He had a sudden vision of the siege tower collapsing at Breteuil, of the men screaming as they burned. He reassured himself that he had not panicked then, he had kept calm and rescued a man, but it had still been a defeat, and none of his skill could have averted that shame. He feared war.
    Next morning, at dawn, they rode on northwards. Roland felt a great deal safer now that he was escorted by almost a score of armed and armoured men, while Genevieve was quiet. She kept looking eastwards hoping that mounted archers would appear, but nothing moved in the low summer hills. The sun was relentless, baking the fields, slowing the horses and making the men sweat in their heavy mail. Philippe was leading now, using tracks away from the high road. They passed another village ruined by plague. Sunflowers grew in abandoned gardens. There must have been folk working in the fields and vineyards, but they hid
whenever they saw horsemen in mail. ‘How much further?’ Roland asked as they watered the horses at a ford that crossed a shrunken field.
    ‘Not far,’ Philippe said. He had taken off his helmet and was wiping his face with a scrap of cloth. ‘Maybe two hours’ riding?’
    Roland gestured for his squire to take his horse. ‘Don’t let him drink too much,’ he ordered, then looked at Philippe again. ‘And once you’re at Labrouillade,’ he asked, ‘you’ll have to leave for the north?’
    ‘Within a day or two.’
    ‘And you follow the English?’
    Philippe shrugged. ‘I assume so,’ he said. ‘If the king reaches us we join him, but otherwise we harass their foragers, cut off their laggards and keep them worried.’ He hitched up his mail coat to piss against a tree. ‘And with any luck we take some rich prisoners.’
    And the first arrow struck.
     
    Thomas led his men and tired horses into a small town. He had no idea what it was called, only that there was no easy way around it and so they must ride through the narrow streets and hope no one delayed them. He took the precaution of tying the prisoner’s hands and stopping his mouth with a gag made of rags.
    ‘We should buy food,’ Karyl suggested.
    ‘But do it quickly,’ Thomas said.
    The horsemen clattered into a small square at the town’s centre, though to call it a town was to flatter a place that had neither walls nor fortress. Market stalls lined the western side of the square while a tavern lay hard under a steep hill to the north, and Thomas gave Karyl some coins. ‘Dried fish, bread, cheese,’ he suggested.
    ‘No one’s selling,’ Karyl grumbled.
    The stallholders and their customers had all gathered by the church. They looked