The Retreat (medieval historical fiction)

Chapter 13 Lying Lips Put to Silence

Our ride through the warm afternoon was swift and by the time we regained our army the sweat of my destrier had formed long foaming lines of pungent lather on his flanks. The gait of the stallion, which was so smooth at a trot, was uneven at a gallop and for most of our urgent journey I had been concentrating on my balance. Even so, my thoughts moved back and forth in wonder at the mystery. Why would the mutur leave the road for the forest? This made no more sense to me than to jump from the decks of a ship into the sea.

The forest was vast and ancient and dangerous. The Romans had forced their way through, to be sure. But since then no lord or king had gained any land from the forest. From time to time, not more than once every ten miles, an earthen path would join the road, testimony to the existence of human communities deep within the forest. Such communities of lawless, demon-worshipers would be no friends to the mutur, and in any case, these paths were always to be found to the north of the road.

To the south, eventually, were unclimbable mountains. Or so I had been told by Arnulf. And even if there was a way through those peaks, you would then find yourself among the cruel bandits who lived on the north-eastern borders of Burgundy. Perhaps, there were allies of the mutur among those outlaws?

'What news?' called out Andreas as we slowed to a trot to pass the rearguard.

Jacques, who must have been sore from his jolting, uneasy ride, simply said, 'The mutur have gone.'

'No sign of enemies,' I added.

Again, we had to pick our way through the confusion that was the journey of our poor, the wounded and those hauling our baggage (with a wave to Arnulf as I passed our cart and a hurt glance at Cateline). Then at last Jacques and I were with the van and Gerard.

Dismounting, Jacques gave his report on foot, while I stayed on my destrier, though I did call for water for him.

'The sodding devil!' exclaimed Gerard. 'He's racing us to the Reiber.'

'What do you mean?' I asked.

'I mean, he has run through the forest and is back on the road ahead of us.'

'But why?'

'To put us between him and Prince Slavniak.' Gerard was pacing swiftly now, turning back and forth.

'He is not making for Burgundy then?'

With a disconsolate sigh, the sturdy captain of the Milan Company shook his head. 'Too far, too dangerous.'

'More dangerous than facing Prince Slavniak?'

'Yes, more dangerous.' Gerard snapped. 'Have we not considered that route?' He shared a look with the ever-present Melinde. 'Think back to last night, to Rainulf's words. Do they not make sense now? He was provoking us to march on, so that he gained the room to leave the road unobserved.'

This was hard to deny. But the argument that Gerard had just presented disturbed me much more than the idea of Rainulf and his men trying to find an escape route through the wilder reaches of the forest. If the mutur were on the road to the west of us, then Rainulf was more treacherous than I wanted to believe and his words to me about King Mutur only lies.

'If you have a fresh horse for me, I'll ride on and look.'

'Very well.'

As I dismounted and waited for a horse, Gerard began calling men to him and giving them orders. Without shouting, despite the passion that was visible in his flushed cheeks and perspiring, bald forehead, his words soon had men and women running back to relay his commands to our people. As soon as I could do so I left the army, to ride past an astonished Count Stephen and his five knights and rush on down a road tinged orange by the setting sun.

Gerard's men had given me a bay courser to ride; this horse was resistant to my anxiety, again and again dropping from gallop to canter and even to trot. After an hour or more of this, my legs were aching severely. At last, I saw in the fading sunlight a glint of metal and my mount and I made one final effort.

I crested a rise and I found the mutur. The selfish, double-dealing, lying mutur.

Not a cart remained with them, though some men led donkeys and ponies by the halter. They were walking swiftly, perhaps at twice the speed of our army.

There were no smiles and jests for me now. Only scowls.

When the news of my presence had been passed along, Rainulf came back down the road at a lumbering run, his dark plaids bouncing against his heavy armour, his eyes cold.

'Well, Rocadamour, what are you doing here?'

'Gerard guessed your intent. I had to see for myself was it true.' I swallowed. 'Why Rainulf? Why abandon us?'

'What do I owe you? Or Gerard? Or the helpless? I act for the mutur alone. If we are to see Lotharingia again with our treasure, then we cannot wait on those who are too slow.'

'And King Mutur, what about him?'

From beneath his bushy eyebrows, Rainulf's stare was scornful. 'You must have been dreaming, little lord. There is no such person. And if there were, he would be a man, not a boy.'

I wheeled about and rode back east into the deep shadows of the forest, before he could see the tears that had come unbidden to my eyes. Twice this day I had been called a boy.

Why should I care to prove myself to a farmer's daughter? Because she knew my worth as a lover. Why should I care to prove myself before a criminal mercenary? Because he was the most savage warrior I have known. Because when he reached my side in the ambush at Devinium I loved him for it and thought that he loved me. Brothers in bloodshed. Was I a hero? Or an immature foolish boy? No matter how much I reassured myself, it was agony to think that these two people, whom before this day had begun, I had thought admired me, in fact thought so badly of me.

Deep in twilight, with the pounding sound of my courser's hoofbeats matching the pounding of my thoughts, the appearance of our knights came as a shock. Suddenly, I was cantering up to Count Stephen, whose eyes were pools of grim darkness.

'Well?'

'Yes, they are ahead of us. And moving fast.' I assumed he had spoken to Gerard about my mission.

'Fast for those on foot, but not for us.' He straightened in his saddle; tall and fierce. 'If we were on my lands, I'd hang them all for desertion.'

'But we are not on your lands. We're in this Godforsaken forest. And even the devil doesn't want us!' I really did feel abandoned by Christ.

'Calm yourself, sir. Report to Gerard and inform him that I am intent upon riding ahead to see if Rainulf can be brought to his duty.'

I did as Count Stephen instructed. But after I had spoken (in control of myself once more), Gerard consulted with Melinde, then turned to me and shook his head.

'That encounter would end badly, so it would. I must dissuade the count and urge him to stay with the army. We will press on through the night and see if they do the same. Whether or not we catch Rainulf, speed is our only hope.' Gerard looked over to one of his officers and raised his voice. 'We will rest for an hour and eat. Then march on by torchlight. You especially, Lord Rocadamour, make the most of this pause. You've ridden hard today.'

It was true. I almost yelled out with pain as I dismounted into the upraised arms of Gerard's men. Then, unsteady on my feet, I gratefully exchanged the willful courser for my intelligent destrier.