The Retreat (medieval historical fiction)

Chapter 16 The Song of Count Stephen

That night Cateline, Arnulf and I ate black carrots and rabbit, cooked with fistfuls of rosemary in the animal's fat. We should have been happy; after all, the army was across the Reiber with no losses. And if Cateline and Arnulf were cheerful enough, I was not. The mutur were camped at the rear of the army once more, about a hundred yards away. And some of their anger was within me.

'What if it had been your father there on the east bank, while Gerard demanded the treasure?'

For a long moment Cateline looked at me with cold eyes. Then she spoke severely, 'How dare you speak of my father.'

'I just want you to see that what happened today was wrong. Arnulf? Don't you agree?'

My sergeant, who had been scratching the bandages on his leg, pulled a backpack close to him, so he could lean on it and sit up straighter.

'My philosophy is that if it ends for the best, it was the right thing to do.'

'But that's absurd.'

'Not as absurd as it might sound, young Rocadamour. And this philosophy allows me to rest easy at night.' He pursed his lips thoughtfully, moustache exaggerating the expression. 'There's nothing more troubling to sleep than an uneasy conscience.'

'Do you think the mutur will sleep easy tonight?' I found I was nearly shouting. The inchoate background chatter from the fireplaces either side of us ceased. I dropped my voice, 'Do you think they would agree that everything has ended for the best?'

Arnulf shrugged; head down, Cateline concentrated on scooping the last of her meal out of her bowl. Perhaps she was aware of my gaze, for she stopped and looked up at me.

'The mutur tried to run away with the treasure and leave us to the wolves. Why do you care for them?'

'Why did you not care if they were killed today? Have you forgotten so soon their courage when they fought at the ambush?' I tried to put as much disappointment into my next words as I could. 'You're not the woman I thought you were.'

'Of course I'm not. You don't know me at all!'

'Now, now. Let us not spoil this fine bit of rabbit.' Arnulf waved his arms with genial understanding, but the gesture was wasted on Cateline; her head was tipped forward, black tresses screening her from us both. 'If I've learned anything from having lived twice as long as you youngsters, it is that harsh words are easily spoken but not so easily forgotten. Sad, isn't it, that people are not the opposite way around?'

I thought about this. 'Let me apologise, Cateline, about your father. I didn't mean any harshness.'

At that moment, two shadows came up to the fire.

'Is that Lord Rocadamour's camp?'

I looked up at an angular face, large ears and twinkling eyes. 'Robert! Welcome, find a place.' I moved sideways for him.

And he was welcome, doubly so. For further to the pleasure of seeing the knight at my fire, I was pleased with an excuse to stop the argument. It was clear that Cateline did not care that the events of this day would have stirred the mutur to the bottom of their murderous souls.

'This is Tourpin.'

In contrast to Robert's long nose and clean-shaven cheeks, Tourpin was a fleshy, bearded man, who although not as old as Arnulf had streaks of grey in his wavy black hair.

'Welcome Tourpin. Alas, we have eaten already. But we might have some mead left. Have we?' I asked.

'A mouthful each, maybe.' Arnulf sounded rueful. 'It's in the cart, in the green satchel.'