Fields of Glory by Michael Jecks Page B

now. Not while they marched.
    He would just have to hope for the best.
    Béatrice woke to the sound of snoring several times in the middle of the night, but she didn’t feel threatened. There was nowhere else to sleep but on the floor
– others with better funds had already taken the benches – and whenever one man moved, three or four others complained. No one could attack her in such a press.
    The people slept where they had sat, lying higgledy-piggledy like garbage in a midden, all taking what space they could. Although she had planned to be up early with Alain, Béatrice had
not realised how tired she was, and did not waken until the sun was over the surrounding hills.
    Alain was already awake when she finally stirred, yawning and blearily rubbing her eyes. ‘You slept well,’ he greeted her.
    She rolled stiff shoulders to ease them. ‘I could have slept at the bottom of a well, I was so tired.’
    ‘Well, hurry yourself. We must be off as quickly as we can,’ he said, gazing across the room to where the bear-like man from the night before stood studying them grimly.
    She nodded. Although she had money enough to buy some food to break their fast, it would be better to use it somewhere else. In a chamber like this, too many men could take it into their heads
to rob a maid on the road.
    They hefted their packs and were soon on their way, but before they had taken more than a handful of paces, there was a shout from the inn.
    ‘Quickly,’ Alain said, forging ahead with long strides. It was hard for her to keep up, he moved so fast.
    ‘Maid, maid, are you weary?’ he asked when he realised she was falling behind. ‘Come!’
    She smiled, but then she saw his eyes go over her shoulder. Turning, she saw their enemy running after them, the innkeeper at his side. She gave a little scream, and hurried on to Alain for
safety. There was no thought in her mind other than reaching him. Alain was her guide and protector. He had saved her last night, and now, with his clear blue eyes concentrating on the men
following, she felt sure he was equal to defending her again.
    ‘Behind me,’ he hissed and shoved her from his path. ‘Get your knife out!’
    She obeyed him, pulling her little knife from its sheath at her belt. It still had a dark crust marring its blade, she saw, and shivered.
    The innkeeper ran first to Alain, but the other had different ideas. He slowed as he neared the two, and while Alain and the innkeeper circled each other warily, he stood before Béatrice.
He put a hand to his cods and smiled at her. ‘You want to fight first? That’s good. I like a girl with a bit of spirit.’ And suddenly he darted close, his hands grabbing for
her.
    Béatrice sprang away, her knife held close before her. She had never been taught how to fight. It hadn’t been necessary when she lived with her father. And now, she had the skills
and knowledge to take care of herself.
    ‘Come, maid! Be friendly, and you’ll soon be on your way,’ he said with a chuckle.
    She ignored him, distracted by the sight before her: the innkeeper had grasped Alain, and the two were struggling with each other, two daggers flashing in the pale light.
    The bearded man tried another lunge at her. This time she swung her own knife as she moved away, and he swore loudly as it sliced the back of his hand. A long red cut opened, and he glared at
her as he licked at the wound like a dog. ‘If you won’t be friendly, you won’t leave here on your feet, bitch,’ he growled. ‘They’ll have to carry you
away.’
    But even as he threatened her, a voice shouted. Other refugees had seen the fight, and now they came running, six men, roaring at them to cease. Béatrice saw her opponent turn and eye the
new arrivals, and then he ran at her, pushing her to the ground. He didn’t wait to pursue his little victory, but ran off up the road.
    Alain and the innkeeper were still locked together, grunting and swearing at each other in their unholy