She nodded. There were many who had felt the same about her father. Perhaps that was why someone had sought to condemn him: fear of his skill with powder? She cleaned her bowl. The pottage was weak fare, but her belly was so empty after the last week that it was welcome and sufficient. When she was done, she rose and walked backwards, keeping her eyes on him.

'Fare well, maid,' he called, but then he was out of her sight and she was in the midst of the English army camp.

The army was bewildering in its enormity. All about her, men were working. Bakers kneaded dough and bellowed at boys commanded to light ovens, while butchers slaughtered and skinned and jointed, and wagons and carts brought ale and wine from the plundered stores of the city. It could have been a market, were it not for the occasional screams and sobs of the wounded as leeches did their best and the butcher-surgeons removed limbs from their traumatised owners.

She felt a thousand eyes upon her, but no one made any attempt to seduce her. The men were all too busy.

'h.e.l.lo. Who're you?'

Beatrice turned to find herself being studied by a short, slim woman with fair hair and a narrow, elfin face. She spoke with a heavy accent.

'I am called Beatrice.'

'Are you a marching wife?'

'Certainly not!'

'No need to take that att.i.tude, maid. It's not a bad life for us.'

Beatrice shook her head.

'Do you have a man? I can find you one, if you want,' the woman went on. 'It's just while the army's here. And it's better than being really married. I tried that.'

'You give yourself to any man?' Beatrice said. For her, it was little better than whoring.

'What do you take me for?' the woman asked indignantly. 'No, I've my man, and you can have yours. We give them comfort, that's all. What's wrong with that?'

Beatrice eyed her doubtfully. 'No. I cannot do that.' The thought of having a man pawing at her, s...o...b..ring over her, filled her with revulsion. Visions of the peasant who had tried to rob her and Alain sprang into her mind.

'It comes natural enough,' the woman said with a little smirk.

'Leave her,' Archibald said. He walked between the two, and the blonde stalked off, tossing her head. Turning to Beatrice, Archibald told her. 'If you want to stay with me, I can give you food, and I won't want anything in return.'

She stepped away.

'Maid,' he continued, 'this is an army. You aren't safe here with men getting drunk and foolish. I have reason to stay sober.'

'Because of your powder.'

'Yes,' he agreed, surprised. 'You know of such things?'

She gave him a thin smile. 'My father was a powder-maker.'

28 July Two days later, Ed was up early.

The horror of his hanging had marked him. He kept his eyes lowered, terrified lest a man might take offence. He had learned quickly that grown men could behave like demons. Although the vintaine had saved him, they were still warriors. The blood staining their clothes was proof of their ferocity when roused, and that knowledge stayed with him as he fetched water, wandered the plain searching for arrows, or helped stir the pot for their pottage. All the while, his throat was sore, inside and out. He could scarcely speak without pain.

When he returned to their camp with water, he found the vintaine huddled together at the back of their cart. Even Granda.r.s.e was there, watching approvingly.

Berenger held a blanket, which he spread over the ground. He took an inordinate amount of time to smooth it so that there were no ripples and folds, and set stones at each corner to hold it in place.

'What is it?' Ed croaked to Geoff.

'Hush, Donkey! Watch and learn.'

Ed stacked his sheaves with the others beside the cart. It was still empty, and while he watched, he saw Berenger open a large pack and spread all the items within about the blanket.

'That's Will's stuff,' Ed managed, frowning.

'Aye. Now shut up.'

Not a word was spoken as Berenger took up Will's dagger in its sheath, his short sword, his bow with its distinctive pattern of grain, and set them down on the blanket.

Granda.r.s.e was the first to move. He lumbered over and stood peering down at the items. Finally, he reached down and picked up a little eating-knife. He weighed it in his hand, his mouth drawn down at the corners as he fiddled, pulling at the blade, testing its fit in the handle, before taking his own little knife from his belt and placing it on the blanket. 'Mine is getting old,' he muttered.

Berenger nodded towards Geoff, who glanced at Ed and walked forward. There was a little cross on a leather thong, which he took up. 'He used to wear this all day,' he said, and removed his own, placing it on the cloth before pulling the thong over his head.

Ed watched as each man went to the blanket, one after the other. Matt took a wooden cup and dropped his own cracked one in its place; Jack chose a dagger and nodded grimly to himself, placing his own in the spot whence it came; the long knife went to Eliot, who exchanged it silently with his own; a cloak went to Jon Furrier, who grunted that his was thread-bare, although Ed could see nothing different in the two; a brooch was picked up by Oliver; Luke took Will's shoes; the bent knife-blade which Will had used to carve bowls and cups was taken by Walt. Before long, Ed had witnessed almost everything that Will had possessed being taken by the others.

Geoff prodded Ed in the back. 'Go on, Donkey. You take something.'

'I don't want to!' Ed said hoa.r.s.ely. He felt a slight superst.i.tious alarm, as though the ghost of Will the Wisp might come back to haunt him for stealing his belongings. 'I'll take what I need from the French.'

Berenger explained, 'Donkey, we aren't stealing anything. All this stuff will go. Better to take something worthwhile.'

'I don't need anything.'

'Your purse?'

Ed shook his head, but as Berenger stared at him, he reluctantly fumbled with the cords binding his old purse to his belt. He dropped it on the blanket and s.n.a.t.c.hed up Will's old purse. There were only three pennies in it, but that didn't matter. Ed tied the thongs to his belt, eyeing Berenger defiantly, then turned and strode away.

'You think they were behaving as thieves, don't you?'

Ed turned at the sound of Archibald's voice. The gynour was sitting at the bank of the little stream that pa.s.sed by the village. Beatrice smiled at Ed shyly as he took his seat near them and began to hurl stones into the water.

'It was horrible,' he said. 'They just stole whatever they wanted.'

'You really believe that?' Archibald said.

Beatrice gave a chuckle. It was a breathy little sound, and she gazed at the water for a moment before reaching into her tunic. On a cord there hung a simple wooden cross from a leather thong. It was much like the one Will had worn, and which Geoff had taken. 'See this?'

'Yes.'

'It was my father's. Now it is all that I have that remains of him.'

'What happened to him?'

'He was arrested by the King's men. They thought he was a traitor. He had said he wasn't sure that it would be worse to be ruled by an efficient English King than a foolhardy French one, or something like that, and he was reported for his words. They came for him and took him away. I gave him my cross so he could pray to Jesus, and took this. But it is all I have of him or my family now. All else was taken from me, and destroyed.'

'What of it?' Ed still didn't understand.

Archibald looked at him. 'William the Wisp was their friend, can you not see that? They were all fond of him.'

Ed threw another stone. It was true that there was no theft, for all the items they removed from the blanket were exchanged with their own. The blanket was as full after they had taken the goods as it had been beforehand.

'The maid is right. When he died, it left a hole in their hearts. So they swapped a thing of theirs for a thing of his, so that they would not forget him.'

She nodded. 'Don't judge them harshly. They remember their companion: they keep a part of him with them forever.'

'Perhaps,' Ed grudgingly allowed.

She saw a tear fall down his cheek. His pain and sorrow were so intense, she looked away, not wishing to intrude on his misery. In her mind's eye she saw the axeman hacking off her father's limbs, and fingered his cross for comfort.

But Ed was not thinking of Wisp. He was remembering his mother on that fateful day when his entire family was wiped out.

It was some hours later. By his fire, Archibald watched as Berenger stood, staring down at Wisp's sorry pile of goods.

'Master Fripper,' he called. 'Would you like a sup of wine?'

He saw the vintener give him a sharp glance, but then he nodded and crossed the gra.s.s to meet the gynour. 'That would be welcome, master.'

'It's a good wine. Sweet as a good bishop's.'

'It is good,' Berenger agreed, taking Archibald's mazer and sipping. 'If you want, we have some bread and meats.'

'Ah, the food that has been liberated from the city,' Archibald said, leaning back against his wagon-wheel with satisfaction. 'A man could grow fat in this land.'

Berenger nodded. 'It is a good land. I pity the poor souls living here.'

'Aye, well, peasants and burgesses alike should accept our King.'

'Perhaps they will.' Berenger was quiet a moment, rubbing his sore shoulder, and then said, 'My apologies for refusing your offer earlier.'

'You had suffered loss.'

'It was a hard battle.'

'Aren't they all?'

'I was here before. I thought then how beautiful the lands were. I never thought I'd return and burn them.'

Archibald cast an eye at him. 'What were you doing here?'

'Travelling with a man to Italy. A rich man.'

'I have a feeling there is more you could tell me.'

'Maybe another day,' Berenger said. 'Some tales can get a man into trouble.'

'Ah, well, that is very true. Such as a story that a boy is spreading malicious rumours.'

'What do you mean?'

'I heard that your boy was hurt?'

'The Welsh tried to hang him.'

'Perhaps they thought he was deliberately slandering them,' Archibald said and explained what he had overheard.

'I will speak with him. If he has been talking in that way of the Welsh . . .' Berenger looked at him. 'What of you?'

'Me?'

'What is your story?'

Archibald smiled. 'You and I are not so dissimilar.'

'Eh? What do you mean?'

'Only that you and I are both running from something. Isn't that true of almost all the men here?'

'I don't know what you mean,' Berenger said, bridling. He pa.s.sed the mazer back and was about to rise, but Archibald restrained him and refilled the mazer.

'Friend, I meant no insult. But almost everyone here is escaping something or someone. A woman, a job, a money-lender . . . the reasons for their presence here are many. Those with a happy woman at home are rare. They would be at home else, at her side.'

Berenger reluctantly took the mazer from him, with a doubtful sucking at his teeth.

'I am not your enemy, Master Fripper. I am a gynour, and I know my reputation, but I'm not evil.'

Berenger gave a short grin. 'I never thought you were. I'm not superst.i.tious.'

'You have a wife?'

'No. I've known only the King's army since I was a boy, not yet eleven years old. My father was servant to Sir Hugh le Despenser. When the Marcher lords fought with Sir Hugh, Father was killed and my mother raped and murdered. Good King Edward, our King's father, sought to protect me. King Edward II was a great man, kind and honourable. I grew up in his household, moving about the country with him, as though I was his legal ward.'

'Because you were orphaned.'

'Because my father died defending Sir Hugh's lands. Sir Hugh was the King's best friend and closest adviser.'

'So the King protected you?'

'And later, I protected him.'

'How so?'

'During the rebellion I fought for him. I was there when he was caught and brought back to England. And later, I was with him when he was imprisoned.'

'And when he died?' Archibald asked.