. . .’ His voice fades as I move out of earshot, into the darkness. Splashing through puddles, looking for the stairs. I remember those barrels – and that milk churn – and the thing that looks like a coffin. It’s a sharp left here, isn’t it? Left and then right. Under this archway. Along this corridor . . . and at last they appear. The stairs. Hallelujah!
Praise the Lord, who brought me out of a horrible pit. There’s no way I’m going down there again.
Thump! Thump! Thump! A funny sound above my head, like someone dragging a body down a flight of steps. Getting closer as I clear the first landing. Thump! Thump! Thump! Oh no. It’s not a body. It’s Foucaud, dragging Roland’s wet palliasse. The smell of scorched hemp is enough to make your eyes water.
‘Where are you taking that, Foucaud?’
‘Lord Roland told me to take it outside.’
‘Oh yes.’ (I remember now.) ‘But where are we going to sleep?’
He just goggles at me like a dead fish. What a bonehead. ‘Never mind.’ Stumbling past him, up the stairs to Berengar’s room. More smoke, more smells. Pushing past a couple of dogs, and through the door to our luxurious chamber. The floor is soaking wet. Oh for God’s sake! That stupid, snot-faced, oyster-eyed idiot! He’s damn well soaked our saddlebags, as well!
‘Foucaud, you fool! Oh, you festering fool!’
Pulling out my clothes – they’re all sodden. My palliasse dripping. My blanket a pool of mush. ‘God damn it! God damn you!’ Kicking at the wet firewood. ‘God damn all of you! I hate this place!’
‘Pagan?’ Roland’s voice, from Berengar’s room. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Oh, my lord . . .’
‘What?’ He appears in the doorway, his face smeared with soot and ash. He looks as if he’s been dragged through a field of nettles.
‘My lord, look what they’ve done! Everything’s wet through!’
‘It doesn’t matter. We’ll borrow something.’
‘They must have boiled tripe for brains!’
‘Please, Pagan, please.’ He puts his hand to his head. I’ve never seen him make a gesture like that, before. ‘Don’t shout.’
Don’t shout? I wasn’t shouting. What’s the matter with him?
‘Are you all right, my lord?’
‘No. Yes. Of course.’ Standing there, with his eyes closed, and his hand on his forehead. ‘Just be quiet for a moment, please.’
Fine. Sure. I’ll be quiet. Not another word will pass my lips. Wringing out my tunic – and my cloak. My stockings look like dead eels. Even my boots are full of water.
Suppose we’ll have to sleep in the chapel until this floor’s dry. Not that we’ll be getting any more sleep tonight, I’ll bet. The instant we lie down we’ll probably have to get up again, if hunting starts as early as he said it would.
‘Pagan.’
Who, me? Surely not. You don’t want to talk to me. I’m the quiet one, remember?
‘Pagan, I know this is hard. But I just can’t leave. Not yet.’
Looking up at him. Leave? Who said anything about leaving?
‘Something bad is going to happen. I know the signs. It’s always like this, every spring.’ He smooths back his hair. ‘A kind of madness. I can’t go away and let it escalate. How can I? I’m a Templar. I have a duty to keep the peace.’
Keep the peace! Hah! You’ll be lucky to keep your sanity, in this dump.
‘Do you understand, Pagan?’
‘Of course I understand. I’m not stupid.’ That’s why I can see that you’re ramming your head against a stone wall. These people don’t even want your help, Roland. You should go away and let them hack each other to pieces.
Otherwise, they’re going to drag you down with them.
Chapter 12
H ow terrible to think that for all these years, I’ve missed out on the joys of hunting. The thrill of standing behind a bush for half a day. The breathless excitement of gnat bites. The gut-wrenching sound of dogs sniffing each other’s genitals. Now I can see what all the fuss is about.
‘Raven! Sit!’ You stupid
Praise the Lord, who brought me out of a horrible pit. There’s no way I’m going down there again.
Thump! Thump! Thump! A funny sound above my head, like someone dragging a body down a flight of steps. Getting closer as I clear the first landing. Thump! Thump! Thump! Oh no. It’s not a body. It’s Foucaud, dragging Roland’s wet palliasse. The smell of scorched hemp is enough to make your eyes water.
‘Where are you taking that, Foucaud?’
‘Lord Roland told me to take it outside.’
‘Oh yes.’ (I remember now.) ‘But where are we going to sleep?’
He just goggles at me like a dead fish. What a bonehead. ‘Never mind.’ Stumbling past him, up the stairs to Berengar’s room. More smoke, more smells. Pushing past a couple of dogs, and through the door to our luxurious chamber. The floor is soaking wet. Oh for God’s sake! That stupid, snot-faced, oyster-eyed idiot! He’s damn well soaked our saddlebags, as well!
‘Foucaud, you fool! Oh, you festering fool!’
Pulling out my clothes – they’re all sodden. My palliasse dripping. My blanket a pool of mush. ‘God damn it! God damn you!’ Kicking at the wet firewood. ‘God damn all of you! I hate this place!’
‘Pagan?’ Roland’s voice, from Berengar’s room. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Oh, my lord . . .’
‘What?’ He appears in the doorway, his face smeared with soot and ash. He looks as if he’s been dragged through a field of nettles.
‘My lord, look what they’ve done! Everything’s wet through!’
‘It doesn’t matter. We’ll borrow something.’
‘They must have boiled tripe for brains!’
‘Please, Pagan, please.’ He puts his hand to his head. I’ve never seen him make a gesture like that, before. ‘Don’t shout.’
Don’t shout? I wasn’t shouting. What’s the matter with him?
‘Are you all right, my lord?’
‘No. Yes. Of course.’ Standing there, with his eyes closed, and his hand on his forehead. ‘Just be quiet for a moment, please.’
Fine. Sure. I’ll be quiet. Not another word will pass my lips. Wringing out my tunic – and my cloak. My stockings look like dead eels. Even my boots are full of water.
Suppose we’ll have to sleep in the chapel until this floor’s dry. Not that we’ll be getting any more sleep tonight, I’ll bet. The instant we lie down we’ll probably have to get up again, if hunting starts as early as he said it would.
‘Pagan.’
Who, me? Surely not. You don’t want to talk to me. I’m the quiet one, remember?
‘Pagan, I know this is hard. But I just can’t leave. Not yet.’
Looking up at him. Leave? Who said anything about leaving?
‘Something bad is going to happen. I know the signs. It’s always like this, every spring.’ He smooths back his hair. ‘A kind of madness. I can’t go away and let it escalate. How can I? I’m a Templar. I have a duty to keep the peace.’
Keep the peace! Hah! You’ll be lucky to keep your sanity, in this dump.
‘Do you understand, Pagan?’
‘Of course I understand. I’m not stupid.’ That’s why I can see that you’re ramming your head against a stone wall. These people don’t even want your help, Roland. You should go away and let them hack each other to pieces.
Otherwise, they’re going to drag you down with them.
Chapter 12
H ow terrible to think that for all these years, I’ve missed out on the joys of hunting. The thrill of standing behind a bush for half a day. The breathless excitement of gnat bites. The gut-wrenching sound of dogs sniffing each other’s genitals. Now I can see what all the fuss is about.
‘Raven! Sit!’ You stupid
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