Son of Blood by Jack Ludlow

those who rode them. It also served as a latrine that did not send the smell of a band of men wafting across the countryside.
    It was axiomatic that at such times they were at their most vulnerable and Bohemund was well aware of the risk, ensuring that comfort was mixed with ability to move quickly – men were required to remain in their chain mail – so when news came from his peasantwatchers that a strong party of Capuan knights were seeking him out and too close by for comfort, he prepared to make a hurried departure. The mounts were quickly roped, bridled and saddled, the packhorses loaded and cooking fires covered with earth to kill them, with the lances ready to depart when Reynard of Eu spotted the single rider with the sun at his back, who had crested a not too distant rise then stopped, a pennant flapping on his lance, stiff on a southerly breeze.
    ‘Red and black surcoat,’ the familia knight said, a hand shading his eyes. ‘Richard’s colours, but not on his lance pennant – that is white.’
    Bohemund waited for Reynard to say something else but the older man did not oblige.
    ‘I would guess he desires to parley,’ Bohemund responded, which got nothing more than a nod.
    ‘If we linger here and talk, that may expose us to those seeking us out.’ That too was received in silence, leaving Bohemund to continue and articulate the obvious conclusion. ‘A white pennant would imply a truce, that while we parley no action will be contemplated?’
    ‘True,’ Reynard replied, but in such a way that still left the decision to Bohemund, with the obvious qualification that nothing could be guaranteed; offers of parley were not always reliable. The temptation to seek advice was strong and the young man knew if he asked it would be freely given and with no hint of a sneer. Reynard was a good man and a steady one who had, since they crossed in Capuan territory, never so much as by a look seriously questioned any orders he had been given and had often, quietly and out of earshot, brought the more boisterous of the small band, men like Ligart, to a betterway of discipline and respect for their confrères. Bohemund also knew that the close party hunting them was to the south and that there were heavily forested uplands to the north into which his band could disappear.
    ‘If he has come to talk it is to me,’ he said finally, biting his lower lip as he contemplated what to do. ‘That I must do, Reynard, but I am not minded to risk anyone else. I would suggest you take the men north. I will take one of the squires to act as messenger, once I know what this fellow, and his master, are after.’
    For the first time since leaving Calore Bohemund saw a definite flicker of doubt in Reynard’s eyes; if Richard of Capua wanted to talk it was a fair guess that it would be an attempt to detach him from service to his father. If it had never been discussed, it had been anticipated as a possibility and Reynard was thinking that if anyone should be alongside the youngster now it was he, for that would kill off any temptation to accede to Capuan blandishments.
    ‘You know what he will offer you, Bohemund?’
    ‘Yes, Reynard, he will offer me the Dukedom of Apulia, with his aid.’
    ‘And if you were to accept?’
    ‘I would be betraying my father and my family.’
    ‘It is tempting nevertheless.’
    ‘Is it?’ Bohemund responded, his voice showing a rare degree of irritation, for he was by nature calm in his speech. ‘To have what is mine by right given to me by another hand and one who would expect me to be his vassal for the prize. That is not a temptation to which I am inclined to succumb, especially when, weak and in his debt, he would want to take it away from me in turn.’
    Reassured, Reynard nodded. ‘Be careful, Bohemund.’
    ‘I will be that,’ the youngster replied as he mounted his riding mare. ‘But know this: if it appears I am tempted, I do so on instruction from my father, who told me this might occur