The Retreat (medieval historical fiction)

Chapter 15 He that Provoketh a King to Anger...

By the time my destrier and I were ready to be hauled across the river, the sun had risen over the treeline, to set the ripples on the surface of the Reiber sparkling. Not that the sight was a cheerful one. I was only too aware of the dark black depths into which I would plunge and drown should the creaking and waterlogged raft give way beneath me.

Even after reaching the west bank of the Reiber safely and even with the return of Jacques, unharmed, with all of the archers, I could not join in the merriment of the people around me. For them, having escaped the oncoming army, hope soared, along with their appetite. Cooking fires filled the air with a sharp, fruity scent that came from a kind of leek that grew in thick clusters in the moist soil near the river and which the poor were frying in fistfulls.

Wine flagons were being passed to and fro and were drunk from undiluted (I declined those that came my way). Cheerful songs (such as that concerning the foolish mule from Montreuil, which made me homesick again) could be heard on all sides.

Yet I was filled with dread. Because the mutur were on the wrong side of the river and Jacques had returned with the news that there was only an hour or two before Prince Slavniak's army was upon them. There was therefore no pleasure to be taken from the sight of sunlight upon verdant forest and shimmering river, only foreboding and a sense that Fate was mocking me. How sweet it was to draw breath on a summer's day, but would those on the other bank be able to do so this evening? If the mutur did not cross soon, they would be slaughtered out to a man, in a repetition of the massacre that had taken Cateline's father from her.

The mutur were standing on the far shore, cursing us with shouts and gestures, while before them the raft, laden with empty boxes and bags, was unmoving.

'You made an oath, Gerard, that you would bring us across the river.' From beside the landing place, Rainulf cupped his hands to shout and his words were clear.

'And so we shall. First, however, you must pay the price of the ferrymen.' A big cheer came up from the crowd at Gerard's response and another when he added, 'hand over the treasure Rainulf!' It seemed as though everyone had stayed to see whether the mutur would be massacred or not and unlike me, they seemed to treat the matter like an ancient Roman spectacle. Happy to be safely across the river, the plight of the mutur was merely entertainment for the rowdy farmers and their wives. With dismay, I saw that Cateline was among those who were mocking the mutur. Her face was animated with a merry, wild-eyed energy.

'This isn't right,' I said to Jacques, whom I had earlier sought out in order to find out the details of his latest adventure.

'Perhaps not. But there is justice here.'

'How so?' I said, bitterly.

'If Rainulf had not been unfortunate, then he would have crossed with all the treasure and – I would guess – then wrecked the ferry to ensure that we were caught and thus delayed Prince Slavniak.'

'I do not think he would have done that. Yet even if he is the murderous traitor you say he is, what about render not evil for evil. Were you never taught that?'

For a moment Jacques' searching glance met mine, but then he looked away and rubbed his fingers across his chin, where a thin blonde stubble was growing. 'No. My schooling was of a different sort to yours.'

Angry, I pushed through the jeering people, until I was near the wooden post on top of which Gerard had climbed so as to call over the river to the mutur.

'Gerard! Let them cross Gerard. Prince Slavniak's army will be upon them any moment.'

From all around, men and women, commoners of all ages, turned hostile faces towards me. 'No! Make them pay!'