Sparrows

Part 3

I sit back on my heels, spine aching, fingers and palms bleeding, knees raw.

And still the hole is too shallow to take Hew and the babe.

Anger is growing apace in the core of my belly. So God will not even let me bury my family? Their deaths pointless, pitiful. Was this to be their final shame?

"Haddie...another soldier is come!"

Tom curls himself down and buries his face in his hands. He is a child again, holding the notion that if he could not see them, they could not see him.

I drag him to me and hold his thin body tight.

There is the thud and clatter of a single horseman drawing near. I shudder.

What new atrocity has God chosen to visit upon us?

###

A knight, his squire and two poor friars with a lumbering waggon, approached the ford, all were travel stained and weary.

"How far to Beckford, my lord? The road to that town would seem never-ending." Friar William was not unaccustomed to long journeys, but this appeared to him to be a marathon. The good-natured colossus, Brother Jocelyn, who rode with him on the creaking wagon seemed oblivious to the unforgiving jolting the unkempt roads afforded.

Robert de Renouf rolled his aching shoulders. "Another day, if the weather holds." He found the inquisitive little friar's constant referring to him as 'my lord', truly aggravating. However, the will of his master, the Bishop of Winchester, was oft times impenetrable. That devious cleric's schemes were things of snares and mazes. And so Sir Robert found himself charged with the welfare of this sulk of friars. It was best he did not dwell on the reasoning of his betters. De Renouf's knee pained him, the old injury never seemed to ease below an ache. It served only to sharpen an already sharp temper.

"Ho...master, Blount is come back!"

Pulling his mount to a halt, de Renouf grunted acknowledgement to Piers, his squire, and watched as his erstwhile sergeant rode towards them at speed.

The seasoned man-at-arms called as he slowed. He leaned forward, rubbing the neck of his mount and pressing the stitch in his own side. "A cot afire by the ford...work of a hireling troop by the look of it...an hour, maybe two ahead."

"Could be just brigands, wolfsheads?" Friar William ventured.

Blount drew level. He gave the cleric doubtful look as if the idea was beneath consideration, but out of politeness he replied, "Wolfsheads seldom ride, and these are well shod horses."

"Maude or Stephen?" de Renouf snapped.

"Hard to tell. There's a cottar woman and a child that seemed to have survived the visit."

"Well then, we must needs inquire of them." Sir Robert's tone was disdainful. He wanted no distractions on this journey, his mission was secret and he had no intention of crossing swords with men of the Conquerors granddaughter, however small the band. His master, the bishop, would be singularly displeased if word of this undertaking reached the Empress.

As the small troop approached the smoldering remains of what had been a cottage and forge, a smoke grimed woman and child stood. They moved, stumbling as they backed away. The woman wiped her eyes with her sleeve and waited.

"Woman, who did this?" de Renouf called imperiously.

"Rats, they're bad this time of year." The peasant woman mumbled, just loud enough to be heard. She turned to the small boy at her side and pulled him behind her.

"You'll keep a civil tongue in your head. Answer, who did this?" Sir Robert was in no mood for recalcitrant peasants. He launched himself off his mount, landing on his weak leg. It jarred, but he covered the wince. The woman looked at him as if he were the vermin.

"Rat's wearing the emblem of some greedy murdering lordling looking to ingratiate himself with some other noble sort! That's who." She turned away, but only got one step and found herself slammed hard against what was left of the wall of the smithy.

Sir Robert's huge form dwarfed her and his dagger was at her throat. "Answer me with respect whore, or I'll take your worthless life."

"Oh, just another noble sort." Haddie sneered softly. "And, as my whoring life be worthless, take it! See how that satisfies your lust for blood...Sir Knight."

Friar William coughed and fell back from what he saw in the remains of the smith's shed. "Sir Robert!"

"What? I have business here!" the knight bit out angrily.

"I think you should see, my lord."

Removing the dagger from the peasant woman's throat, Sir Robert released her, but gestured with the weapon at the ground in front of her. "Stay there."

She looked at him with ill concealed loathing, but stayed where she was, rubbing at the raw skin of her gullet.

Looking on the sight the Friar showed him, Sir Robert cuffed his mouth on his sleeve. He glanced at the woman and boy, at her dirt covered hands, then back at the small hole they had obviously been trying to dig. With a curse that horrified the friar, he turned, strode to the hole, knelt, and began to dig using his dagger. "Blount, and you Piers, cut the man down. Wrap the bodies as best you can...Have a care of the babe."

 I watch impassively as they bury my husband and son, I do not grieve for Hew, only my poor little Rabbit. He had no life.

Smoke and grit even now stings my eyes. The friar says his words, but I do not hear my loss, wretchedness or outrage, I hear naught but the begging of God's forgiveness! What forgiveness does my child need, he who never even walked? Hew should be in Hell for all his iniquities, he cheated his customers, lied, committed sinful acts forbidden by the Church. But he paid his tithes, fed the old priest till he was stuffed. Oh, he will not face the fires of Hell, he has bought his way out of the Judgement.

Mother of Heaven, have I lost even my faith?

I look at our home, it's thatch and beams smoking still, and I curse all soldiers, and all their kin. My heart's scars will never repair.

I cannot think of tomorrow. Tom and I must look to ourselves, find shelter, food, start again.