Six months later

Berenger sat on his bench outside his door and watched the men and women passing by.

He was content. His wife was growing large with child, and although they were not foolish young people, maddened with love, they were comfortable. Marguerite was a great asset, with her happy smile and infectious laugh, and in the months since her arrival at Calais, much of her bleak discontent has gone. She was learning to be merry again, now that she was married and safe once more.

Her son still had moments during which he would stare at Berenger as though blaming him alone for all the misfortunes that had occurred since the arrival of the English, but occasionally now he would laugh and smile, too. Like others who had survived the atrocities of the English invasion, he was discovering that life under the rule of a kindly English King could be pleasant and secure.

And Berenger himself was pleased to learn that he could rebuild his life. He was happy here, with an ale in his hand, knowing that behind him there was another barrel to be broached, and that in his shop there were clothes of all sorts ready for sale.

In the months since the capture of Calais, much had changed. All the old inhabitants, apart from a few, had been evicted and their houses taken over by colonists approved by the King. Some priority was given to those, like Berenger, who had fought hard for the town. They were deserving of reward, but also were best placed to defend the new-won lands. The campaign and siege had taken all the efforts of England, and now it was time to make the most of the territory. Men were coming from all over England to trade with the rest of France, and many French could see the advantage in coming to sell their wares. While the French King might fulminate and scheme, his people were realists and wanted peace with profit.

Today, sitting in the early spring sunshine, his cloak wrapped tightly about him, Berenger Fripper saw a tall figure striding along the road towards him. He frowned, but then his face broke into a smile.

‘Sir John!’

The knight grinned in return, and stood before him. ‘You are looking very pleased with yourself, Master Fripper.’

Berenger patted his belly. ‘I am learning the joys of regular feeding and a bed under a roof,’ he said. ‘I could grow to like this life.’

‘So, were I to invite you to join me . . .’

‘No. There is no inducement you could offer that would be sufficient.’

‘Then I am glad to have no suitable employment for you,’ Sir John chuckled. At Berenger’s invitation, he took a seat beside his vintener and accepted his offer of a large cup of ale. Marguerite appeared, wiping her hands on her apron and gave him a suspicious look, as though suspecting he had an ulterior motive in appearing just now. On seeing her concern, Sir John said kindly, ‘No, mistress, I am not here to take your husband from you. I am simply passing by on my way home to England. It’s time I saw more of Iddesleigh and Rookford – and my wife too.’

They sat talking for half the morning, as old comrades will.

‘Have you heard of John of Essex?’ Sir John said. ‘Since he’s taken up his new name, he is earning a reputation for courage and ability.’

‘He always had both. Does Grandarse thrive?’

‘As well as a man ever will whose diet consists of sack, cider and ale,’ Sir John said sardonically.

Berenger laughed out loud. ‘At least he is consistent.’

‘Aye. And meanwhile, Calais continues safely.’

‘Yes, Sir John.’

The knight sipped his ale. ‘Mm, this is good. You have heard that Lord Neville has put up a cross to celebrate your victory outside Durham? The place will forever be known as Neville’s Cross from now on. A place of great importance.’

‘Perhaps,’ Berenger said. All he could see, when he thought of that battle, were the faces of Godefroi and the Scotsman dying after his torture. He would spend the rest of his life trying to forget them.

‘Well, my friend, be careful and God go with you,’ Sir John said, rising.

‘Godspeed, Sir John.’

‘And if you are ever in need, you must write to me. There will always be a place in my entourage for a man such as you.’

‘I am grateful for the honour, my lord, but I am happy here. I intend to avoid war and death.’

‘Sometimes death comes to us. Have you heard the rumours? There is a pestilence affecting people in the south of France.’

‘I had heard of a disease,’ Berenger said, ‘but that is far from here.’

‘Apparently it approaches us. I hear that it is now at Caen.’

Berenger shrugged. ‘We are safe enough here. We are miles from it.’

He watched, smiling, as the knight strode away.

‘Why do you smile, husband?’ Marguerite asked.

‘Oh, just a silly story. The knight fears a mighty pestilence. As though it could affect a great town like this,’ Berenger laughed, and then stopped.

An icy shiver ran down his back, as though God Himself was giving him due warning.