Bernard Cornwell - The Grail Quest 1 - Harlequin
The prayers must have worked for he woke one dawn to see Jeanette sitting in the shed's doorway with her thin body outlined by the bright new day. She turned to him and he saw there was no madness in her face any more, just a profound sorrow. She looked at him a long time before she spoke.
Did God send you to me, Thomas?"
He showed me great favour if He did,“ Thomas replied. She smiled at that, the first smile he had seen on her face since Rennes. I have to be content,” she said very earnestly, because my son is alive and he will be properly cared for and one day I shall find him."
We both shall," Thomas said.
Both?"
He grimaced. I have kept none of my promises,“ he said. The lance is still in Normandy, Sir Simon lives, and how I shall find your son for you, I do not know. I think my promises are worthless, but I shall do my best.”
She held out her hand so he could take it and she let it stay there. We have been punished, you and I,“ she said, probably for the sin of pride. The Duke was right. I am no aristocrat. I am a merchant's daughter, but thought I was higher. Now look at me.” Thinner,“ Thomas said, but beautiful.”
She shuddered at that compliment. Where are we?“ Just a day outside Rennes.”
Is that all?"
In a pig shed,“ Thomas said, a day out of Rennes.” Four years ago I lived in a castle,“ she said wistfully. Plabennec wasn't large, but it was beautiful. It had a tower and a courtyard and two mills and a stream and an orchard that grew very red apples.”
You will see them again,“ Thomas said, you and your son. He regretted mentioning her son for tears came to her eyes, but she cuffed them away. It was the lawyer,” she said. Lawyer?"
Belas. He lied to the Duke.“ There was a kind of wonderment in her voice that Belas had proved so traitorous. He told the Duke I was supporting Duke Jean. Then I will, Thomas, I will. I will support your duke. If that is the only way to regain Plabennec and find my son then I shall support Duke Jean.” She squeezed Thomas's hand. I'm hungry."
They spent another week in the forest while Jeanette recovered her strength. For a while, like a beast struggling to escape a trap, she devised schemes that would give her instant revenge on Duke Charles and restore her son, but the schemes were wild and hopeless and, as the days passed, she accepted her fate.
I have no friends,“ she said to Thomas one night. You have me, my lady.”
They died,“ she said, ignoring him. My family died. My husband died. Do you think I am a curse on those I love?” I think,“ Thomas said, that we must go north.” She was irritated by his practicality. I'm not sure I want to go north."
I do," Thomas said stubbornly.
Jeanette knew that the further north she went, the further she went from her son, but she did not know what else to do, and that night, as if accepting that she would now be guided by Thomas, she came to his bracken bed and they were lovers. She wept after-wards, but then made love to him again, this time fiercely, as though she could slake her misery in the consolations of the flesh. Next morning they left, going north. Summer had come, clothing the countryside in thick green. Thomas had disguised the bow again, lashing the crosspiece to the stave and hanging it with bindweed and willowherb instead of clover. His black robe had become ragged and no one would have taken him for a friar, while Jeanette had stripped the remains of the fox fur from the red velvet, which was dirty, creased and threadbare. They looked like vagabonds, which they were, and they moved like fugitives, skirting the towns and bigger villages to avoid trouble. They bathed in streams, slept beneath the trees and only ventured into the smallest villages when hunger demanded they buy a meal and cider in some slattemly tavern. If they were challenged they claimed to be Bretons, brother and sister, going to join their uncle who was a butcher in Flanders, and if anyone disbelieved the tale they were unwilling to cross Thomas, who was tall and strong and always kept his knife visible. By preference, though, they avoided villages and stayed in the woods where Thomas taught Jeanette how to tickle the trout out of their streams. They would light fires, cook their fish and cut bracken for a bed.
They kept close to the road, though they were forced to a long detour to avoid the drum-like fortress of St-Aubin-du-Cormier, and another to skirt the city of Fougeres, and somewhere north of that city they entered Normandy. They milked cows in their pastures, stole a great cheese from a wagon parked outside a church and slept under the stars. They had no idea what day of the week it was, nor even what month it was any more. Both were browned by the sun and made ragged by travelling. Jeanette's misery was dissolved in a new happiness, and nowhere more than when they discovered an abandoned cottage, merely cob walls of mud and straw, that were decaying without a roof in a spinney of hazel trees. They cleared away the nettles and brambles and lived in the cottage for more than a week, seeing no one, wanting to see no one, delaying their future because the present was so blissful. Jeanette could still weep for her son and spent hours devising exquisite revenges to be taken against the Duke, against Belas and against Sir Simon Jekyll, but she also revelled in that summer's freedom. Thomas had fitted his bow again so he could hunt and Jeanette, growlng ever stronger, had learned to pull it back almost to her chin.
Neither knew where they were and did not much care. Thomas's mother used to tell him a tale of children who ran away into the forest and were reared by the beasts. They grow hair all over their bodies,“ she would tell him, and have claws and horns and teeth,” and now Thomas would sometimes examine his hands to see if claws were coming. He saw none. Yet if he was becoming a beast then he was happy. He had rarely been happier, but he knew that the winter, even though far of was nevertheless coming and so, perhaps a week after midsummer, they moved gently north again in search of something that neither of them could quite imagine. Thomas knew he had promised to retrieve a lance and restore Jeanette's son, but he did not know how he was to do either of those things. He only knew he must go to a place where a man like Will Skeat would employ him, though he could not talk of such a future with Jeanette. She did not want to hear about archers or armies, or of men and mail coats, but she, like him, knew they could not stay for ever in their refuge.
I shall go to England,“ she told him, and appeal to your king.” Out of all the schemes she had dreamed of this was the only one that made sense. The Earl of Northampton had placed her son under the King of England's protection, so she must appeal to Edward and hope he would support her.
They walked north, still keeping the road to Rouen in sight. They forded a river and climbed into a broken country of small fields, deep woods and abrupt hills, and somewhere in that green land, unheard by either of them, the wheel of fortune creaked again. Thomas knew that the great wheel governed mankind, it turned in the dark to determine good or evil, high or low, sickness or health, happiness or misery. Thomas reckoned God must have made the wheel to be the mechanism by which He ruled the world while He was busy in heaven, and in that midsummer, when the harvest was being flailed on the threshing floors, and the swifts were gathering in the high trees, and the rowan trees were in scarlet berry, and the pastures were white with ox-eye daisies, the wheel lurched for Thomas and Jeanette.
They walked to the wood's edge one day to check that the road was still in view. They usually saw little more than a man driving some cows to market, a group of women following with eggs and vegetables to sell. A priest might pass on a poor horse, and once they had seen a knight with his retinue of servants and men-at-arms, but most days the road lay white, dusty and empty under the summer sun. Yet this day it was full. Folk were walking southwards, driving cows and pigs and sheep and goats and geese. Some pushed hand-carts, others had wagons drawn by oxen or horses, and all the carts were loaded high with stools, tables, benches and beds. Thomas knew he was seeing fugitives.
They waited till it was dark, then Thomas beat the worst dirt off the Dominican's gown and, leaving Jeanette in the trees, walked down to the road where some of the travellers were camping beside small, smoky fires.
God's peace be on you,“ Thomas said to one group. We have no food to spare, father,” a man answered, eyeing the stranger suspiciously.
I am fed, my son,“ Thomas said, and squatted near their fire. Are you a priest or a vagabond?” the man asked. He had an axe and he drew it towards him protectively, for Thomas's tangled hair was wildly long and his face as dark as any outlaw's. I am both,“ Thomas said with a smile. I have walked from Avig-non,” he explained, to do penance at the shrine of Saint Guinefort.“ None of the refugees had ever heard of the Blessed Guinefort, but Thomas's words convinced them, for the idea of pilgrimage explained his woebegone condition while their own sad condition, they made clear, was caused by war. They had come from the coast of Normandy, only a day's journey away, and in the morning they must be up early and travelling again to escape the enemy. Thomas made the sign of the cross. What enemy?” he asked, expecting to hear that two Norman lords had fallen out and were ravaging each other's estates.
But the ponderous wheel of fortune had turned unexpectedly. King Edward III of England had crossed the Channel. Such an expedition had long been expected, but the King had not gone to his lands in Gascony, as many had thought he would, nor to Flanders where other Englishmen fought, but had come to Nor-mandy. His army was just a day away and, at the news, Thomas's mouth dropped open.
You should flee them, father , one of the women advised Thomas. They know no pity, not even for friars." Thomas assured them he would, thanked them for their news, then walked back up the hill to where Jeanette waited. All had changed.
His king had come to Normandy.
They argued that night. Jeanette was suddenly convinced they should turn back to Brittany and Thomas could only stare at her in astonishment.
Brittany?" he asked faintly.
She would not meet his eyes, but stubbornly stared at the camp-fires that burned all along the road, while further north, on the night's horizon, great red glows showed where larger fires burned, and Thomas knew that English soldiers must have been ravaging the fields of Normandy just as the hellequin had harrowed Brittany. I can be near Charles if I'm in Brittany," Jeanette said. Thomas shook his head. He was dimly aware that the sight of the army's destruction had forced them both into a reality from which they had been escaping in these last weeks of freedom, but he could not connect that with her sudden wish to head back to Brittanny.
You can be near Charles,“ he said carefully, but can you see him? Will the Duke let you near him?”
Maybe he will change his mind," Jeanette said without much conviction.
And maybe he'll rape you again,“ Thomas said brutally. And if I don't go,” she said vehemently, maybe I will never see Charles again. Never!"
Then why come this far?"
I don't know, I don't know.“ She was angry as she used to be when Thomas first met her in La Roche-Derrien. Because I was mad,” she said sullenly.
You say you want to appeal to the King,“ Thomas said, and he's here!” He flung a hand towards the livid glow of the fires. So appeal to him here."
Maybe he won't believe me,“ Jeanette said stubbornly. And what will we do in Brittany?” Thomas asked, but Jeanette would not answer. She looked sulky and still avoided his gaze. You can marry one of the Duke's men-at-arms,“ Thomas went on, that's what he wanted, isn't it? A pliant wife of a pliant follower so that when he feels like taking his pleasure, he can.” Isn't that what you do?" she challenged him, looking him in the face at last.
I love you," Thomas said.
Jeanette said nothing.
I do love you," Thomas said, and felt foolish for she had never said the same to him.
Jeanette looked at the glowing horizon that was tangled by the leaves of the forest. Will your king believe me?“ she asked him. How can he not?”
Do I look like a countess?"
She looked ragged, poor and beautiful. You speak like a coun-tess,“ Thomas said, and the King's clerks will make enquiries of the Earl of Northampton.” He did not know if that was true, but he wanted to encourage her.
Jeanette sat with her head bowed. Do you know what the Duke told me? That my mother was a Jewess!" She looked up at him, expecting him to share her indignation.
Thomas frowned. I've never met a Jew,“ he said. Jeanette almost exploded. You think I have? You need to meet the devil to know he is bad? A pig to discover he stinks?” She began to weep. I don't know what to do."
We shall go to the King,“ Thomas said, and next morning he walked north and, after a few heartbeats, Jeanette followed him. She had tried to clean her dress, though it was so filthy that all she could manage was to brush the twigs and leaf mould from the velvet. She coiled her hair and pinned it with slivers of wood. What kind of man is the King?” she asked Thomas. They say he's a good man.
Who says?"
Everyone. He's straightforward."
He's still English,“ Jeanette said softly, and Thomas pretended not to hear. Is he kind?” she asked him.
No one says he's cruel," Thomas said, then held up a hand to silence Jeanette.
He had seen horsemen in mail.
Thomas had often found it strange that when the monks and scriveners made their books they painted warfare as gaudy. Their squirrel-hair brushes showed men in brightly coloured surcoats or jupons, and their horses in brilliantly patterned trappers. Yet for most of the time war was grey until the arrows bit, when it became shot through with red. Grey was the colour of a mail coat, and Thomas was seeing grey among the green leaves. He did not know if they were Frenchmen or Englishmen, but he feared both. The French were his enemy, but so were the English until they were convinced that he was English too, and convinced, moreover, that he was not a deserter from their army.
More horsemen came from the distant trees and these men were carrying bows, so they had to be English. Still Thomas hesitated, reluctant to face the problems of persuading his own side that he was not a deserter. Beyond the horsemen, hidden by the trees, a building must have been set on fire for smoke began to thicken above the summer leaves. The horsemen were looking towards Thomas and Jeanette, but the pair were hidden by a bank of gorse and after a while, satisfied that no enemy threatened, the troops turned and rode eastwards.
Thomas waited till they were out of sight, then led Jean ette across the open land, into the trees and out to where a farm burned. The flames were pale in the bright sun. No one was in sight. There was just a farm blazing and a dog lying next to a duck pond that was surrounded by feathers. The dog was whimpering and Jeanette cried out for it had been stabbed in the belly. Thomas stooped beside the beast, stroked its head and fondled its ears and the dying dog licked his hand and tried to wag its tail and Thomas rammed his knife deep into its heart so that it died swiftly.
