The Retreat (medieval historical fiction)

Chapter 26 Wrath, Devastation, Desolation, Bitterness

Arnulf died that night. When I woke to the dawn chorus, he was white, cold and stiff under his cart. His arms and legs were so stiff, in fact, they could not be moved. It seemed irreverent of the birds to carry on as if nothing had happened and I got my hunting bow from the cart. Teeth gritted, I sought out the loudest, the mocking screech of a jackdaw, and let fly. A few leaves fluttered, but I missed; the bird did, however, hop away.

'What are you doing?' Cateline rested her arm on mine, preventing me from taking another shot.

'Arnulf's dead.'

'What good will that do?'

'Nothing.'

'Go get a spade, we must bury him while there's time, before the army leaves.'

Cateline was right of course and the tenderness of expression in her brown eyes softened my anger. Throwing the bow back in the cart, I set off up the road.

Many people were awake, including Robert, Count Stephen's stipendiarus, whom to judge from the fact his bandages were gone, was well on the mend. Why had not Arnulf mended too? As I passed, Robert saluted me and I gave a brief nod in return.

Jacques was awake too and gathering up his belongings; in just his jerkin and breeches, he was a slender figure.

'God be with you, Guibert.'

'And with you. Have you a shovel?'

The archer ceased his packing and faced me. 'Arnulf died?'

Tears came to my eyes and I did not find it easy to speak, I did not have to.

'We have shovels and picks. This way.'

Further on up the road, the Milan Company had a cart beneath whose covers lay a great pile of equipment for use in sieges, including dozens of iron-tipped spades.

'Gerard, you'll want to come,' said Jacques.

'What's the matter?' Yawning and also thinner in appearance without his armour (though still far more stocky than Jacques), Gerard walked over to us.

'Arnulf died during the night.'

'God rest his soul.' It was Melinde who spoke, wrapped in a brown cape, walking behind Gerard.

'I'm sorry for your loss,' added Gerard, his eyes searching mine, face full of sympathy.

This section of forest was young, the tree trunks about ten yards or so from each other, with tussocks of thick grass between them.

'How about there?' As we made our way back towards the body, Jacques pointed to a cluster of yellow, leafy chrysanthemums. 'The Romans used to cover their fallen dead with those flowers.'

I nodded and we left the road to set to work. Although clad only in light clothes and although the morning sky was grey, it was warm enough and soon I was sweating. But I dug on, wanting to make sure Arnulf would be deep enough under that his body would not be disturbed by wild dogs or other animals. Whether we rose from our graves on Christ's return, or came down to earth with our heavenly form, I did not know.

'Enough?' panted Gerard.

'A little more.'

At last I relented and we took the cold body and placed it in the dark earth. Around the edge of the pit stood Gerard, Jacques, Melinde, Cateline and myself. Beyond us stood others, men and women who had seen what we were about and come in silence to pay tribute to Arnulf. This I appreciated. It was good of them.

The priest who had heard Arnulf's confession pushed through to us.

'Say a few words about him first, would you my son?' he reached out to hold my shoulder and the strength of the priest's grip helped me gather myself.