Blood on the Sand (53 page)

At least this Berenger had shown her kindness, Marguerite thought. He had helped her when she had been lonely; he had fed her boy, had given them both the protection of his vintaine – and
had made no demands on her. She had never felt threatened by him.

She looked back towards the land away from the sea. There she could clearly see the heights of Sangatte. That was where the French King had set his camp. He had done less for his people than
this Berenger had done for her alone.

Berenger spoke now. ‘I know you are confused. If your husband turns up, I’ll understand if you want to leave me. But for now, while the land’s so dangerous, I can at least give
you and your son a home. I can look after you both.’

She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the distant hills. They represented freedom – and death. If there was the faintest hope that her husband was alive still, she should go and try to find
him. And of course she wanted to find her children. But what was the point? They could be anywhere – if they were still alive. The chances of her finding them were remote. It was more likely
that she would meet her own death on the roads.

Taking a deep breath, she wrenched her gaze away and met Berenger’s steady stare. ‘If I learn my family is alive, I will leave you. You have to know that. I gave my husband my
word.’

‘I wouldn’t expect anything else, woman,’ Berenger said.

‘If you accept that, then before God, I declare I believe I am widowed, and as a widow, I will take you, Master Berenger Fripper. I will have you to be mine, to have and to hold from this
day until death take me.’

‘And I will have you, Marguerite. You will be my wife, and I will be a good husband to you, and father to your son,’ Berenger vowed. And as he said it, he felt a certain lightness
steal over him. It was a sign, he felt sure, of God’s approval at last.

And with God’s help the English would turn this little port into a great trading city in support of the English in France.

Archibald had seen her shortly afterwards, as the news was given to the vintaine.

‘I have to tell you lot something,’ Berenger announced, and Archibald thought how different he looked – how
relaxed
. The gynour had never seen him looking so at peace
before.

‘What is it, Frip?’ Jack called.

‘Aye, we’re all to be sent on some wild-goose chase so the Frenchies can try to kill us,’ Clip said darkly. ‘We’ll all die, you mark my words.’

‘Shut up, Clip,’ Dogbreath said.

‘It’s not that. The fact is, I am to stay here in Calais. I will marry.’ Berenger looked thoroughly embarrassed now. His head hung.

‘Marry, Frip?’ This was the Earl. ‘Do you think she will be able to make an honest man of you, then?’

‘Yes: marry. I’ll be settling down with Marguerite and her boy, and I intend to bring up more small Frippers while I’m about it. My name is Fripper. I may as well live up to
the title and deal in your second-hand clothes. Well, obviously not
yours
, Dogbreath,’ he added.

Dogbreath looked down at his stained and worn clothes and shrugged, while the other men laughed and hooted.

‘So, I’ll wed her.’

‘Have ye not done it yet?’ Grandarse called. ‘She’ll be changing her mind while you fuck about, you great lummox.’

‘I’m to do it today. Sir John has already given us a house for my service, and the King is keen for any who will, to come and live in the new town.’

‘Aye, well,’ Clip said, ‘as to that, I think there may be other towns.’

Archibald left them, and walked to where Béatrice stood a little way away. ‘Are you well, woman?’

‘Of course. Why would I not be?’

‘Your face just then, I thought . . .’

‘There is nothing to think.’

Ed was watching. Now he stood. ‘We will be fine. Master, you will teach me all you can about gonnes, and Béatrice can teach me about powder, and in time I’ll become a master
gynour too, and we can ask our own price from any man who can afford us!’

‘Yes, and life will be easy,’ Archibald said, ruffling his hair, but even as he said it, he saw the expression in Béatrice’s eyes, and felt his heart melt with pity at
the sight of her despair and jealousy.

Grandarse toasted the couple in style, and then returned to his favourite tavern. There, he drank a hornful of wine to them again, before reflecting on the last year.

It had been a hard campaign. Many men had died and would still die. Disease, wounds, all had their own effect. And yet, as he sat here now, he wondered what the value had been for him. There was
no more money in his purse, no riches to dangle from his saddle, not even a new, valuable horse. The campaign had been a way of filling in time between his birth and his grave.

He had made many decisions, some good, some dreadful. He had killed many men, sometimes for a good reason, but more often for bad ones. Mark Tyler, who had seemed the obvious culprit to have
attempted to kill Fripper was now shown to have been innocent. Well, no matter, Grandarse had done what he had done in the best interests of the centaine and Berenger’s vintaine. If he had
been mistaken, so be it. Any man could make errors.

‘Barman!’ he bellowed, and refilled his horn.

‘Bah – fuck him!’ he declared, and drank again. There were many good men whom he had killed. He wouldn’t worry about a one such as Tyler. Besides, it might well have been
Tyler who tripped Berenger at the castle.

‘What will you do, Jack?’ Clip asked.

‘Me? I suppose I’ll go home. Work for a bit, get bored, and join a company out here again.’

‘I’ll get home,’ Oliver said, ‘and see who my wife’s been screwing, then take his money at the point of my knife.’

‘Me, I’ll go and set up a tavern in London,’ the Earl said. Meditatively chewing a straw, he smiled. ‘I’ll have the prettiest little geese in there, all good, buxom
little wenches, the sort who’ll take a man’s mind off war, famine or the law for a couple of pennies. And I’ll serve fine ales, and wines, and even some of this burned wine they
give you out here. Aye, and all my friends from this vintaine will be welcome.’

‘Oh, aye?’ Clip said.

‘I said
friends
, Clip.’

John of Essex was passing. ‘So it’s true? Fripper’s going to settle?’

‘Yes. What of you?’

‘Me? I think I’ll go on. There are opportunities in other parts of France, so they say. A great company is being formed. Once our King has peace, there’ll be little enough
excitement for us, after all. I’ll take a new name, I think, and see what I can do.’

Clip sneered, ‘New name, eh? John not good enough?’

‘No, I think I need a new surname. After all, if I’m to be a great military captain, I will need a new name to strike fear into the hearts of my enemies. I think I’ll call
myself “Hawkwood” in future. John Hawkwood has a good ring to it.’

‘Hawkwood? A name any man will forget in a week,’ Clip sniggered.

‘My name will be remembered for a century,’ John reproached him. ‘You’ll see.’

‘He won’t,’ Dogbreath said.

Six months later

Berenger sat on his bench outside his door and watched the men and women passing by.

He was content. His wife was growing large with child, and although they were not foolish young people, maddened with love, they were comfortable. Marguerite was a great asset, with her happy
smile and infectious laugh, and in the months since her arrival at Calais, much of her bleak discontent has gone. She was learning to be merry again, now that she was married and safe once
more.

Her son still had moments during which he would stare at Berenger as though blaming him alone for all the misfortunes that had occurred since the arrival of the English, but occasionally now he
would laugh and smile, too. Like others who had survived the atrocities of the English invasion, he was discovering that life under the rule of a kindly English King could be pleasant and
secure.

And Berenger himself was pleased to learn that he could rebuild his life. He was happy here, with an ale in his hand, knowing that behind him there was another barrel to be broached, and that in
his shop there were clothes of all sorts ready for sale.

In the months since the capture of Calais, much had changed. All the old inhabitants, apart from a few, had been evicted and their houses taken over by colonists approved by the King. Some
priority was given to those, like Berenger, who had fought hard for the town. They were deserving of reward, but also were best placed to defend the new-won lands. The campaign and siege had taken
all the efforts of England, and now it was time to make the most of the territory. Men were coming from all over England to trade with the rest of France, and many French could see the advantage in
coming to sell their wares. While the French King might fulminate and scheme, his people were realists and wanted peace with profit.

Today, sitting in the early spring sunshine, his cloak wrapped tightly about him, Berenger Fripper saw a tall figure striding along the road towards him. He frowned, but then his face broke into
a smile.

‘Sir John!’

The knight grinned in return, and stood before him. ‘You are looking very pleased with yourself, Master Fripper.’

Berenger patted his belly. ‘I am learning the joys of regular feeding and a bed under a roof,’ he said. ‘I could grow to like this life.’

‘So, were I to invite you to join me . . .’

‘No. There is no inducement you could offer that would be sufficient.’

‘Then I am glad to have no suitable employment for you,’ Sir John chuckled. At Berenger’s invitation, he took a seat beside his vintener and accepted his offer of a large cup
of ale. Marguerite appeared, wiping her hands on her apron and gave him a suspicious look, as though suspecting he had an ulterior motive in appearing just now. On seeing her concern, Sir John said
kindly, ‘No, mistress, I am not here to take your husband from you. I am simply passing by on my way home to England. It’s time I saw more of Iddesleigh and Rookford – and my wife
too.’

They sat talking for half the morning, as old comrades will.

‘Have you heard of John of Essex?’ Sir John said. ‘Since he’s taken up his new name, he is earning a reputation for courage and ability.’

‘He always had both. Does Grandarse thrive?’

‘As well as a man ever will whose diet consists of sack, cider and ale,’ Sir John said sardonically.

Berenger laughed out loud. ‘At least he is consistent.’

‘Aye. And meanwhile, Calais continues safely.’

‘Yes, Sir John.’

The knight sipped his ale. ‘Mm, this is good. You have heard that Lord Neville has put up a cross to celebrate your victory outside Durham? The place will forever be known as
Neville’s Cross from now on. A place of great importance.’

‘Perhaps,’ Berenger said. All he could see, when he thought of that battle, were the faces of Godefroi and the Scotsman dying after his torture. He would spend the rest of his life
trying to forget them.

‘Well, my friend, be careful and God go with you,’ Sir John said, rising.

‘Godspeed, Sir John.’

‘And if you are ever in need, you must write to me. There will always be a place in my entourage for a man such as you.’

‘I am grateful for the honour, my lord, but I am happy here. I intend to avoid war and death.’

‘Sometimes death comes to
us
. Have you heard the rumours? There is a pestilence affecting people in the south of France.’

‘I had heard of a disease,’ Berenger said, ‘but that is far from here.’

‘Apparently it approaches us. I hear that it is now at Caen.’

Berenger shrugged. ‘We are safe enough here. We are miles from it.’

He watched, smiling, as the knight strode away.

‘Why do you smile, husband?’ Marguerite asked.

‘Oh, just a silly story. The knight fears a mighty pestilence. As though it could affect a great town like this,’ Berenger laughed, and then stopped.

An icy shiver ran down his back, as though God Himself was giving him due warning.