and a like number of serjeants.
‘Women, look you!’ cried his second with a wolfish grin.
Hamo fixed his gaze upon the red chevrons on the leading knight’s shield, and a little behind him, riding with the women, the gold lozenge on blue background of another knight.
‘God’s teeth, it’s Henry FitzGuyon and Adam de Lacey.’
‘Who are the women then?’
‘How should I—?’ Hamo began on a snarl, then stopped, his focus becoming intense. ‘That one in front is de Lacey’s wife. Those two behind are maids, you can tell from their dress, and they’re joining the road from the Woolcot track, so the other must be Elene de Mortimer – Renard FitzGuyon’s betrothed.’ Discovering her identity as he spoke, his eyes brightened with the hunting instinct that was never far from the surface. ‘And what would my lord of Chester give to have her in his hands?’ Hard on that question came the thought that despoiled goods were far more likely to go to the despoiler than to a second party, particularly if that despoiler had already been promised lands of his own.
‘Are we going to take them on?’ The Welshman’s voice was rough with excitement. Henry FitzGuyon might be as dull as an ox, but he was also as solid and strong as one in a fight and de Lacey had a fearsome reputation in battle.
‘If it were man to man I’d think twice, but they’re hampered by the women, and it’s the women – or rather one woman – we want. We’ll catch them going into those trees further down, hit them in the centre, cut out the woman and use our bows to stop them pursuing.’
The glint of sunlight on mail rivets caught the corner of Henry’s vision. He jerked round so quickly that he wrenched his neck and the sudden streak of hot pain, coupled with the inability to move his head, prevented him from scanning the horizon. When he was able to look again, the sun had retreated behind clouds and there was nothing to be seen.
‘What’s wrong?’ Adam asked, as they rode into a scrubby willow coppice lining the moist valley bottom.
‘Nothing. I thought I saw something on the hill but it was probably just the sun reflecting off that stream up there.’ Rubbing the back of his neck, Henry winced.
Adam decided nevertheless to tighten up their form ation and turned to give Sweyn the order, his words becoming a bellow of warning as the horsemen crashed suddenly upon them, hitting them dead-centre.
Elene screamed as a weight smacked on to Bramble’s crupper. Hard mailed arms snatched the reins from her hands and spurred heels rammed into the mare’s flanks, sending her at a bolting gallop through the trees. A branch whipped Elene’s face. Her world tilted and see-sawed as the mare ploughed through the mud and started to strain up the slope. The man seated behind shouted at the horse and kicked her again. Elene wriggled and immediately his right arm clamped around her waist.
‘Don’t even think of it,’ he growled against her ear.
Adam slammed his shield into one man’s face, cut at the mercenary on his right, and pressed Lyard forward in front of Heulwen’s mount.
‘They’ve got Elene!’ Henry bellowed, hacking at his own opponent. The blade bit into the man’s arm and lodged in bone. He screamed. Henry grunted with effort as he wrenched his blade free and spun his stallion in the direction of the escaping mercenary. He found himself accompanied by several of the enemy, but none of them bothered to engage him, and in the moment that he realised why, an arrow thumped into his right pectoral and sent him reeling from the saddle. As he struck the ground, he heard the shaft snap. Fluid filled his mouth. As he lost consciousness, the last thing he saw was Adam’s sorrel stallion buckling beneath a rain of arrows and Adam trying desperately to scramble free of the saddle.
Renard slowed Gorvenal from lope to walk as he reached the crossroads where he had arranged to meet Elene and her escort, and discovered that he was
‘Women, look you!’ cried his second with a wolfish grin.
Hamo fixed his gaze upon the red chevrons on the leading knight’s shield, and a little behind him, riding with the women, the gold lozenge on blue background of another knight.
‘God’s teeth, it’s Henry FitzGuyon and Adam de Lacey.’
‘Who are the women then?’
‘How should I—?’ Hamo began on a snarl, then stopped, his focus becoming intense. ‘That one in front is de Lacey’s wife. Those two behind are maids, you can tell from their dress, and they’re joining the road from the Woolcot track, so the other must be Elene de Mortimer – Renard FitzGuyon’s betrothed.’ Discovering her identity as he spoke, his eyes brightened with the hunting instinct that was never far from the surface. ‘And what would my lord of Chester give to have her in his hands?’ Hard on that question came the thought that despoiled goods were far more likely to go to the despoiler than to a second party, particularly if that despoiler had already been promised lands of his own.
‘Are we going to take them on?’ The Welshman’s voice was rough with excitement. Henry FitzGuyon might be as dull as an ox, but he was also as solid and strong as one in a fight and de Lacey had a fearsome reputation in battle.
‘If it were man to man I’d think twice, but they’re hampered by the women, and it’s the women – or rather one woman – we want. We’ll catch them going into those trees further down, hit them in the centre, cut out the woman and use our bows to stop them pursuing.’
The glint of sunlight on mail rivets caught the corner of Henry’s vision. He jerked round so quickly that he wrenched his neck and the sudden streak of hot pain, coupled with the inability to move his head, prevented him from scanning the horizon. When he was able to look again, the sun had retreated behind clouds and there was nothing to be seen.
‘What’s wrong?’ Adam asked, as they rode into a scrubby willow coppice lining the moist valley bottom.
‘Nothing. I thought I saw something on the hill but it was probably just the sun reflecting off that stream up there.’ Rubbing the back of his neck, Henry winced.
Adam decided nevertheless to tighten up their form ation and turned to give Sweyn the order, his words becoming a bellow of warning as the horsemen crashed suddenly upon them, hitting them dead-centre.
Elene screamed as a weight smacked on to Bramble’s crupper. Hard mailed arms snatched the reins from her hands and spurred heels rammed into the mare’s flanks, sending her at a bolting gallop through the trees. A branch whipped Elene’s face. Her world tilted and see-sawed as the mare ploughed through the mud and started to strain up the slope. The man seated behind shouted at the horse and kicked her again. Elene wriggled and immediately his right arm clamped around her waist.
‘Don’t even think of it,’ he growled against her ear.
Adam slammed his shield into one man’s face, cut at the mercenary on his right, and pressed Lyard forward in front of Heulwen’s mount.
‘They’ve got Elene!’ Henry bellowed, hacking at his own opponent. The blade bit into the man’s arm and lodged in bone. He screamed. Henry grunted with effort as he wrenched his blade free and spun his stallion in the direction of the escaping mercenary. He found himself accompanied by several of the enemy, but none of them bothered to engage him, and in the moment that he realised why, an arrow thumped into his right pectoral and sent him reeling from the saddle. As he struck the ground, he heard the shaft snap. Fluid filled his mouth. As he lost consciousness, the last thing he saw was Adam’s sorrel stallion buckling beneath a rain of arrows and Adam trying desperately to scramble free of the saddle.
Renard slowed Gorvenal from lope to walk as he reached the crossroads where he had arranged to meet Elene and her escort, and discovered that he was
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