Ann of Cambray (22 page)

One day there was a surge of excitement. A group of Celtic riders had come up to the outer guards and were let pass. First came their foot soldiers, running with their spears held at a slant. Then the horsemen themselves. It was strange to see them coming down off the moors on their small ponies in their furred hooded cloaks, stranger still to have them pass without stopping to salute as once they would have done. Had I been in my father’s keep, they would have tossed some gift at my feet: strings of polished stones, fox skins, once, when I sat with Talisin, a basket of woven reed with faint speckled eggs glowing in their nest of fern. They brought no gifts to Lord Raoul’s tent, nor did they knuckle salute as they used to do to my father, but rode their ponies swiftly, hands close to hips near their axe shafts. I craned among the rest to catch a glimpse of them, to hear their talk perhaps, but they said nothing. And when they left, they were still silent. Later, they sent gifts of their own Celtic beer and wine, thick with honey, but they never came again; and hopes that they might have been envoys for the greater Welsh princes died away, and with it the hope of the treaty that made this border watch meaningful.

Perhaps it was their coming that made me careless again, or perhaps it had released some tension among us all. Or, as is most likely, my luck ran out. I had been in the camp for several weeks now. Looking back, I see how unlikely it was that I had remained so long without being detected. But I might have survived a while longer had I been careful and kept to my silent, unobtrusive role.

There were many rumours abroad: that once the treaty with the Celts was made, Lord Raoul would move against the Angevins again; that he and the king would meet; that we would all go back to Sedgemont—this last, perhaps a source of disappointment to the younger boys who had not yet fleshed their swords. Over such military discussion was I undone. The hour was early, yet already smoke of woodfires began to stain the upper air. Huntsmen had been bringing in venison on large stretchers of wood. We would eat well tonight when the patrols returned. It was the time when weary men doffed their harness and lolled at ease in their tents waiting for the evening feast. There had been a flurry of activity in the women’s quarters. We had heard them laughing and shouting in their place against the wall, and I thought, too, how they would be kept busy that night, although that thought gave me no pleasure. Perhaps even, it was hearing them that made my mind wander. I had become so used to thinking of myself like one of my companions, thin and dirty in my rough, stained clothes. Catching glimpse of those women, among them the red-haired one I mentioned before, cavorting in her new finery, made me suddenly conscious of where I was and who I was. I sat glumly at the edge of a circle of boys, not moving away by myself, which, if I had kept to my usual habit, I would have done. And in this way I became involved in their quarrels. This was ill fortune, not contrived by malice. They were used to me, thinking, no doubt, if they thought at all, that I served some good-tempered lord who was more lenient, or that, which was part true, I served no man, was one of the flotsam that always attaches itself to a soldiers’ camp. Some of them lay on their backs idly, with eyes half-closed. Others ruminated aloud about the state of our affairs. Perhaps if I had kept some work in hand, I would not have been noticed. I have yet to meet a boy who will complain or question anyone willing to help him at some task he hates. But I know, if I am to be honest, that it was my unfortunate tongue. One dark-haired youth, son of a vassal lord and therefore privy to the latest news, was telling us what he had heard at his father’s table. Lord Raoul had been present.

‘And he says,’ the boy was ending his story triumphantly, ‘that if the Celts could be persuaded we would keep faith with them, then they would be more willing to treat with us. But the lords of Maneth must be curbed first. They threaten all the border lands to our north.’

They laughed. ‘As soon as tell the north wind not to blow,’ one mocked. ‘The Lord of Maneth pays little heed to us. You cannot hope to have him by the horns until the affair of Anjou is settled.’

How they weighed the country’s woes, these young boys scarce in their teens, world-weary men they were, when they spoke of such things.

‘And you cannot take Anjou,’ another said, ‘unless the king be with you.’

‘And the king will not stir up trouble. . .’ a third chimed in. ‘Unless he must,’ they all sang out together.

How cynical they sounded for ones so young, untried yet, still novices to war.

‘But there still is Cambray . . .’

‘Lord Raoul spoke on that, too. He said, finally, “It is not worth the risk.’”

‘Therein his thinking runs astray,’ I said angrily. ‘Cambray holds the key to all the south.’

‘Indeed, Sir Know-All.’ It was my turn to be mocked. ‘Lay your battle plans before him, Sir Know-All. He would welcome them, Sir Know-All.’

They laughed at their joke.

‘Had the old Lord of Cambray, Falk, still lived, that would have been another tale. Or his son. But they are both dead. There is no one to claim or hold Cambray.’

‘There is a daughter of the house,’ I said, a devil prompting me.

‘Mark at him,’ they crowed again, ‘she’s dead or gone. In a convent somewhere. You’ve thoughts of her perhaps?’

A bigger, older boy I had always avoided sat heavily beside me, leaning on the shield he had been polishing so that I was forced to give ground.

‘For one who does so little,’ he said, ‘you have great ideas and take up great space. Go tend your master’s wants. God’s wounds, have you nothing better to do than babble rubbish.’ 

‘Let him be,’ the dark-haired boy intervened. ‘It is but a poor spineless thing at best. Because your Sir Richard works you to the bone, do not envy those whose tasks are lighter. No master claims him, fool, because he is not worth it.’

I did not mind their jibes. I knew of what little value they held me; they had often told me so before.

‘But who is his master?’ said the older boy slowly. ‘Even if the man is dead now, he must have had a name. What was his degree, his rank? How came this worthless worm to tag along with us?’

He turned to me, nudging me with the shield edge.

‘Churl,’ he said, ‘who serves you? Or who did you serve? Your name?’

I was already slipping aside, but one of my companions caught me by the leg so my tormentor could rise and grab my arm. Between them I was caught as in a vice. As they tugged and pulled, I tried to break free again, kicking at them with my other leg. That was a second mistake. I should have known better, ought to have lain still, let them abuse me to their pleasure. I should have tried to talk my way free as I had done before. Showing violence pleased them.

The elder boy swung his fist at me, knocking me to the ground. Before he could follow with a second blow, the dark-haired boy leaped at him. Within seconds, they were all scrabbling furiously together, I, as the original cause of the disturbance, forgotten in the pleasure of hitting at one another. I lay in their midst, half-dazed, but with presence of mind to drag the shield beside me for cover. When there was a lull, I planned to crawl away. But ill luck dogged me that day. As the others pushed and fought, part in anger, part in jest, as I had seen them a hundred times, a man’s voice shouted at us. I heard horse’s hooves thundering to a stop. The struggle ended abruptly, which should have been warning enough. Had it been someone of less importance, they would not have been so prompt to obey. Then, too, I should have stayed where I was, half-hidden; but in the protracted silence that followed, I moved the shield aside to see what was happening. The other boys had stepped back so that I still remained in the centre.

Before us stood a horse, a man upon its back. He must have just returned for he was wearing full mail and was still armed. The horse was lathered with hard riding and champed and snorted as its rider held it to the bit. But the man’s helmet was off, and his silver-blond hair blew freely. Ill luck that he should have passed by at this time. Ill luck that he should have chosen now to ride about his camp. Ill luck that he should catch me off guard. I tried frantically to look aside, pulled at the hood that covered my head, but it had been knocked aside in the struggle.

He cannot know me, I thought; in the dust and shadow he will not know who I am.

But I would have known him anywhere.

‘You, boy,’ Lord Raoul said. ‘Come here.’

Slowly I began to rise, dusting my clothes to give myself time to think. That too was a mistake. I heard the others hiss. I should have leaped to my feet when he bade me.

He spurred his horse to make it turn, bad-tempered beast, like its master.

‘You,’ he said again, in a voice that made me cringe. ‘I mean you.’

The other boys backed away from me then as the horse moved restlessly. They could understand my reluctance, no doubt; but then, if someone was to take the brunt of blame, better I than they. He was scowling now, high above me on his great horse. But he looked well, his face was brown, his hair tousled, the mail coat unlaced at the throat.

‘You,’ he said again, ‘look at me.’

Perhaps even then I could have braved him out. Perhaps, if I had not panicked, I could have satisfied his curiosity and the incident would have passed by. But as always in his presence, something cracked my resolution no matter how I tried to hold it.

Without warning, I suddenly hurled the shield that I had been holding under his horse’s feet, making it rear and shy away with a great clatter of hooves, and almost unseating him, so that he had to grab at rein and bit to keep it under control. The confusion was my chance. Without clear thought except to escape, I leaped past the group of pages who had scattered in fear and plunged down the slope of the hill towards the first of the horse lines. There was a small stone wall there, more a bank than a wall, but I went over it head first, enough to have broken my neck had not there been a group of serfs beneath, sitting with backs against the stones, playing some game of chance in the dust. I landed on them, sending them sprawling in turn. Before they could recover, I took to my heels down the line of horses, tied head to wall, putting as much distance as possible between us, slipping beneath the tethers to the next row, setting them all snorting and stamping.

But, as usual, I had misjudged Lord Raoul. I should have remembered he was quick, too. A mounted man does not readily give up advantage, but hardly had I gone over the wall than he had hurled himself from his saddle and followed me, sending the groomsmen sprawling a second time. When I looked back, he was already on his feet, seizing one by his hair.

There are several men, I thought, sliding softly into the third row of tethered animals. It will take him time to sort them through. I crawled along as fast as I could, ducking in and out of the partitions. But behind me the noise increased, shouts, curses, running feet. I should have thought that what I had done would have set the whole camp by the ears. Lord Raoul would not let such defiance go unchecked.

I came at last to the end of the line. There was no way out. The sally ports had been long closed and there was no escape from the cliff by the small paths there. Lord Raoul would have every piece of straw dragged out until he found me. I did not intend to sit cowering in a stall like a cornered animal. But there was not much choice.

Stealthily, I unfastened a horse, leading it by its halter to the gap in the partition that led to a path to the big inner meadow they used for exercising. There was no one there now; even the guards had turned their heads to stare at the commotion behind them. Using the wall as leverage, I clambered onto the horse, forcing it up and forwards, as the startled sentry whirled around. The shouts increased, an outroar. A scattered shower of arrows whistled past. I could hear the sound of horses following, and more cries. I was coming up to the opening in the inner or second circle of wall or bank. More guards were waiting for me there. Later, I wondered why they did not shoot me down; but perhaps I was too close, or perhaps they thought I was on a runaway. Yet I must have made a clear target against the evening sky. I thrust the horse at them so that they were forced to jump away, hanging down from the farther side so that they could not get clear hold to drag me off. Then we were through the gap, had crossed the ditch beyond, and were heading for the outer bank. Once clear of that, there was the open moor.

I could hear other horses, closer now, but there was no time to look round. I could not hope to force the main gates, but must try to ride over the bank at a weak place. I veered off to the right, frantically searching for a break in the bushes and brush that crested the mound of earth. The horse was labouring now; God’s teeth, I thought, savagely twisting its head round, ill luck again to have chosen the slowest beast of the lot. The mound came up slowly. I edged along it; all was thick and matted. No horse could breast its way through that tangle there. I veered aside again as a pursuing horse went hurtling by, and calmly set my poor creature directly at the bank that rose some ten feet or more above our heads. It was an impossible jump and I felt the horse tremble as I urged it on with hand and voice. Then something snatched at me, catching hold of the belt around my waist, and when that broke, at the slack of my shirt. Like a bundle, I was swung into the air, for a fraction hanging there before falling face down, heavily, across a saddle bow. The horse I had been riding, nudged off its feet by the impact, went somersaulting at the bottom of the bank; other riders on each side pulled back to avoid crowding us. I could hear their voices still shouting, hoarse with alarm and amusement both. Exhausted, battered, the air knocked out of me, I lay and fought for breath as Lord Raoul wheeled round, one hand still holding me, riding easily back the way we had come. I remembered the way he had laughed and jested after the fiasco of the hunt, to set the others at ease, to make light of what had happened then. I recognised the same quality to his voice now, calling out to the riders who had accompanied him, half his guard, I suppose, shouting to the men-at-arms who came scrabbling with their weapons, that it was nothing worth their alarm. Nothing! He circled the camp leisurely, making a complete tour to see that all was set in order again before returning to his pavilion in the centre field.