breath. They had not seen
anyone on the short walk across the green, much less a
churchwarden. She focused on the musket the fellow held loosely at
his shoulder; but he made no threatening moves.
“ He was
here an hour or so ago. I dunno if he’s still inside.” He glanced
down at his forearm, a grubby bandage visible beneath a ragged tear
in his sleeve. “Master Fellowes bound this fer me. The pain is
almost gone, thanks to “im.”
“ I’m so
glad,” Bayle sounded anything but. “We brought water for the
prisoners.” He indicated the bucket in his hand.
“ Both of
ya?” The soldier frowned at Helena. “Won’t be much fun fer
'er.”
“ This is
my sister. She’ll be fine if she stays with me and does as she’s
told.” Bayle’s glare held all the instruction Helena
needed.
“ Aye.
Well, I has orders not to let anyone in.”
Helena held her breath. He must let them in.
This was the only way of finding out for sure if any of her family
were inside.
“ Perhaps
you won’t see us.” Bayle kept his face bland.
“ Them
poor wretches haven’t had any water all day.” He licked his lips,
his gaze darting nervously over his shoulder. “I need the privy,
I’ll be gone a while.” He gave them a curt nod and left them
standing in the empty porch.
The nauseating stench of unwashed bodies,
blood, and decaying flesh assailed Helena’s senses like brume as
they entered the airless building. She fumbled in a pocket for a
kerchief and held it to her face, willing herself not to be sick.
All Jane’s warnings had not been enough to prepare her for
this.
St Mary’s was not a small church; it had a
high timbered roof and stone arches that ran down both sided of the
central aisle. The pews had been shoved aside to make room for the
prisoners, who sat or lounged on the dusty flagstones. Sunlight
streamed through the arched windows, sending beams of white light
onto piles of rags that covered the floor – rags that moved. A
short, burly man with sandy hair approached them, his hands filled
with soiled strips of cloth he must have been using as bandages. He
frowned at Helena as he drew closer, but on seeing Bayle, his face
cleared. “Nathan? Is that you?”
Bayle set down the bucket and the newcomer
discarded his own burden so they could clasp hands. “I’m surprised
to see you in this place, boy.”
Boy! Helena frowned at Bayle, who had
always been an adult to her. Brief introductions followed, during
which Helena ignored Gil Fellowes’s disapproving looks as Bayle
explained their purpose.
She imagined Bayle would most likely receive
a lecture from his Uncle Gil later.
“ There
are so many,” Helena whispered, easing along the wall. “Not all of
them are wounded, surely?” Some sported open wounds she tried not
to see, while others appeared unharmed, though every face showed
signs of exhaustion, or despair, while some were mud-covered.
“About seventy out of the five hundred,” Gil whispered. “Though
they all look done in.”
Dull, uncaring eyes sharpened with urgency
when Bayle offered them water. The fittest slurped greedily, and
once fortified, handed round the ladles to others, helping prop up
the heads of the more badly injured who needed assistance.
“ We’ll
need more water,” Bayle said when they were still only about ten
feet inside the door.
“ There’s
a pump out back,” Gil said. “The guard there owes me; so I’ll fetch
some.”
“ Perhaps
you should go, Helena?” Bayle held out the bucket.
“ Keep
going. I haven’t found anything yet, and that other soldier will be
back soon.”
Gil exchanged an astonished look with
Bayle, who shrugged. Helena would have liked to have gone with him,
but forced herself to remain inside the stifling church, though
none of the men took any notice of her as she picked her way
through patches of floor space, searching for familiar features.
Hair of a certain colour, or a boot she had seen before.
Helena edged round a stone pillar,
anyone on the short walk across the green, much less a
churchwarden. She focused on the musket the fellow held loosely at
his shoulder; but he made no threatening moves.
“ He was
here an hour or so ago. I dunno if he’s still inside.” He glanced
down at his forearm, a grubby bandage visible beneath a ragged tear
in his sleeve. “Master Fellowes bound this fer me. The pain is
almost gone, thanks to “im.”
“ I’m so
glad,” Bayle sounded anything but. “We brought water for the
prisoners.” He indicated the bucket in his hand.
“ Both of
ya?” The soldier frowned at Helena. “Won’t be much fun fer
'er.”
“ This is
my sister. She’ll be fine if she stays with me and does as she’s
told.” Bayle’s glare held all the instruction Helena
needed.
“ Aye.
Well, I has orders not to let anyone in.”
Helena held her breath. He must let them in.
This was the only way of finding out for sure if any of her family
were inside.
“ Perhaps
you won’t see us.” Bayle kept his face bland.
“ Them
poor wretches haven’t had any water all day.” He licked his lips,
his gaze darting nervously over his shoulder. “I need the privy,
I’ll be gone a while.” He gave them a curt nod and left them
standing in the empty porch.
The nauseating stench of unwashed bodies,
blood, and decaying flesh assailed Helena’s senses like brume as
they entered the airless building. She fumbled in a pocket for a
kerchief and held it to her face, willing herself not to be sick.
All Jane’s warnings had not been enough to prepare her for
this.
St Mary’s was not a small church; it had a
high timbered roof and stone arches that ran down both sided of the
central aisle. The pews had been shoved aside to make room for the
prisoners, who sat or lounged on the dusty flagstones. Sunlight
streamed through the arched windows, sending beams of white light
onto piles of rags that covered the floor – rags that moved. A
short, burly man with sandy hair approached them, his hands filled
with soiled strips of cloth he must have been using as bandages. He
frowned at Helena as he drew closer, but on seeing Bayle, his face
cleared. “Nathan? Is that you?”
Bayle set down the bucket and the newcomer
discarded his own burden so they could clasp hands. “I’m surprised
to see you in this place, boy.”
Boy! Helena frowned at Bayle, who had
always been an adult to her. Brief introductions followed, during
which Helena ignored Gil Fellowes’s disapproving looks as Bayle
explained their purpose.
She imagined Bayle would most likely receive
a lecture from his Uncle Gil later.
“ There
are so many,” Helena whispered, easing along the wall. “Not all of
them are wounded, surely?” Some sported open wounds she tried not
to see, while others appeared unharmed, though every face showed
signs of exhaustion, or despair, while some were mud-covered.
“About seventy out of the five hundred,” Gil whispered. “Though
they all look done in.”
Dull, uncaring eyes sharpened with urgency
when Bayle offered them water. The fittest slurped greedily, and
once fortified, handed round the ladles to others, helping prop up
the heads of the more badly injured who needed assistance.
“ We’ll
need more water,” Bayle said when they were still only about ten
feet inside the door.
“ There’s
a pump out back,” Gil said. “The guard there owes me; so I’ll fetch
some.”
“ Perhaps
you should go, Helena?” Bayle held out the bucket.
“ Keep
going. I haven’t found anything yet, and that other soldier will be
back soon.”
Gil exchanged an astonished look with
Bayle, who shrugged. Helena would have liked to have gone with him,
but forced herself to remain inside the stifling church, though
none of the men took any notice of her as she picked her way
through patches of floor space, searching for familiar features.
Hair of a certain colour, or a boot she had seen before.
Helena edged round a stone pillar,
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