The Retreat (medieval historical fiction)

Chapter 22 The Sons of Men are Liars

All night, the mutur had stayed near the chest. And all night too, the rest of the army had ringed them, suspiciously. Not I. As I was not on guard duty, I had gone to my bed for sleep and to be with Cateline. It seemed to me that Cateline was recovering from her ordeal. Each night since our return to the army, she had slept curled in on herself, back to me. Not this last night though; her head was on my shoulder, her arm across my chest.

There was torchlight enough for me to see her closed eyes: what were her dreams about?

Despite a great many sighs from Arnulf nearby, along with the creaking sounds of his restless twisting about in the cart, I fell asleep.

When I awoke, Rainulf was crouched above me, wearing his disconcerting, blue-fanged smile. Was I still dreaming? No.

'Rocadamour, put on your armour today. And come with us on the ferry.'

'Why? What's happening?'

'Hush.' With that he got up and strolled back towards his men.

It was late in the morning that the long-haired, blonde emissary of the bishop came over to us, a large crowd – the majority of our army – watching the slow progress of the ferry across the river.

With four servants behind him and with nods to those of us he recognised, the emissary walked right up to the chest, which had been bound around the sides with rope to ensure it would not split. The bishop's man looked at the contents, impressed.

'Quite a haul. Lord Wernher will be pleased, I'm sure.' Then, turning to his servants, 'bring it away.'

'Wait.' Rainulf stepped between the servants and the chest. 'We want guarantees that the bishop will let us cross. Hostages too.'

'I can't speak for my lord bishop.'

'Then we'll come with the treasure and hear his oath.'

'Very well. No weapons.'

Rainulf held his arms wide, to show that he carried no axes or swords. The bishop's servants went among some half dozen of the mutur, who also had outstretched arms, checking for hidden daggers.

In response to a knowing look from Rainulf, I unbelted my sword and gave it to Cateline before joining the leader of the mutur. 'And I, also.'

Grey clouds above and dark, frightening water below. But on the strip of planks between the two, much cheer, ebullience even, in the chatter of the emissary.

'I shouldn't tell you this, but the bishop was in such a rage after Shalk crossed eastwards that he planned to imprison your leaders on the way home and ransom them. But this is better. Where did you get so much treasure? Is it King Bratislav's?'

'Devinium.' Rainulf managed a smile.

'I see. You didn't spare the churches neither? To judge from the chalice I saw.' The emissary bent down by the clasp of the chest and began to raise the lid. With a bang that rang out above the roar of the river, Rainulf kicked the chest shut. Holding his fingers to his body, as if to nurse them, though they were not hurt, the emissary gave Rainulf a scowl.

'Not here,' said Rainulf and the ferry gave a lurch as by way of explanation for his action.

The slow haul across the Kee completed, we were taken up to the solar once more. It was a difficult task, maneuvering the chest around the tight corners of the narrow staircase. The mutur took responsibility for heaving it up, a step at a time, until we reached the door of the solar, held open for us by two servants.

Although this room filled the whole of the first floor of the castle, it was small for a meeting chamber, nothing like the great hall at Castle Rocadamour. The solar was, however, richly adorned. We stood on a lush red carpet; tapestries depicting each of the four seasons hung on the wall; a large banner (gold and red, with a white flared cross) stood behind the bishop's seat and the candelabra in each corner were gold leaf and reached as high as my chin.