The Retreat (medieval historical fiction)

Chapter 5 They Shall Return at Evening

Walking, the midges were more of a problem than riding. Huge clouds of the tiny flies floated above the path in the afternoon sun and we learned to go single file to find a route between them if we could. Jacques and I were on foot leading our horses. Further back, poor Robert was hanging on tight to his saddle, white-faced. It would have suited his needs for us to move even more slowly, but we had to keep up a brisk walk, anxious that King Bratislav's army might return to Devinium and cut us off before we returned to our people.

'Jacques?'

'Hmmm?'

'Who's that woman always at the side of Gerard?'

'His wife, Brigid.'

'He has a wife with him? When he goes to war?' At home, I was used to seeing my father, Lord Rocadamour, departing for war. And never did any woman march out of the castle with our troops.

'A lot of the men do. We'd hardly see our women otherwise.'

'Oh, do you have a wife here too?'

'No. No, I've a woman and a boy in Genoa. Maybe.'

'Maybe?' From behind us, Robert snorted a kind of laugh, but then groaned.

Jacques turned. 'I mean, it's been two years. Who can be sure what has changed over two years?'

'Will you go to see them, when we get back?' I asked.

'If we get out of the forest alive, I'll look them up.' Jacques looked at me. It was a rueful expression.

From behind us, there was a sound, like Robert wanted to say something. Yet the effort was too much for him and he waved us on.

In France, on warm days like this I would ride for hours, sometimes hunting in the company of other young knights and squires, sometimes alone. I knew every field, copse and stream of Rocadamour and I wished I were there now. Back there, I was happy and enjoyed life without knowing what it felt like to kill a man. Until today, I hadn't realised how fresh blood smelled so much like a newly honed sword blade.

While I was making wishes, I wished too that I could pause to sleep, even just for an hour. The recent fighting had disordered my mind and I wanted to settle it. Killing that bowman, was that right? Unbidden, the dead man's last, indignant expression kept returning to my thoughts. Sleep would cure me, probably. Yet I could rest and ease my troubled soul later; for now we had to hurry as best we could with our wounded companion.

When at least we reached Devinium, Jacques and I paused, studying the walls of the town before we came within bowshot of them. The only sounds I could hear were the lapping of the fast-flowing river, the hum of bees, and the activity of birds (a magpie in a nearby tree was cawing loudly; from deeper in the forest came the rapid drum of a woodpecker).

A memory of my sister running through a grove of birches, laughing as I chased her, struck me so powerfully that I gasped aloud.

'See something?' asked Jacques anxiously.

'Sorry. It's just that I wish I were home. Away from the blood and the sad eyes of dying men.'

'Don't feel guilty,' Jacques gave me a sympathetic look. 'It was them or us.'

This was kind of him and I looked away quickly, feeling the presence of tears. It seemed as though the town were desolate. 'We could bear off through the forest, the road west must be over there somewhere.' I gestured.

'Not unless we have to.' In shaking his head, Jacques realised that some of his braids had come loose and with both arms raised he tied the dirty yellow strands back behind his head again. 'Quicker – and smoother for Robert – to use the path.'