XXXIX
UP AHEAD, DISTANTLY, through a break in the mountains, Gisburne could see the land fall away, the terrain soften.
“We’re through,” he said. “Traverse this last pass and we descend to low valleys once more.” Beyond, now, lay Auxerre. Then Montargis, then Courances. And Nyght. He would reclaim his horse, and they would strike out for Boulogne, and the coast. Before that, of course, was Paris. He meant to miss out Paris. What Mélisande would think of that, and how they would be reconciled, he was yet to find out. But for now, it did not matter. He felt only relief, and joy.
The members of the party were in high spirits as they descended from the plateau. Even the horses, which had endured the worst hardships of all, seemed to sense better times ahead. The sky was clear, the sun shone, and the snow was thinning. The mountain road directly ahead was completely clear but for a few drifts. Gisburne guessed it was the high winds on this side that had kept the rocks bare – but now, he also saw, the snow was beginning to thaw. He rejoiced at the thought. No more snow. No more ice. He didn’t care if it rained from now until Doomsday. They would have rocks and stones and earth beneath their feet once more.
As they descended, laughing and joking, Galfrid shocked all by breaking out in song, in a fine tenor voice. They clapped along as he trilled about summer coming in, even affecting a comic falsetto for the chorus.
Another sound – distant, but distinct, at odds with the merriment – made Gisburne turn. He scanned the mountainside, the horizon, but saw nothing unusual. He raised a hand. Galfrid saw the concern upon his master’s face, and his song faltered and died. Gisburne strained to hear against the wind.
The sound rose up again, gusting with the breeze – familiar and unfamiliar.
It was howling. Or rather, it was an approximation of howling.
“Wolves? Again?” said Galfrid.
“Worse,” said Mélisande. “Men.”
As she said it, one of her outriders came back up the road towards them at full gallop.
“Templars,” he said, pointing ahead. “A large party. Heavily armed.”
“How many?” said Gisburne.
“Fifteen at least,” he panted.
“Did you see red ribbons upon their arms?” demanded Mélisande.
“I don’t know,” he said, his face flushed. He shook his head. “Possibly...”
“Think!”
“Who else would it be?” said Gisburne grimly.
“Hide in the wagon,” said Mélisande. “They won’t search them. They wouldn’t dare.”
With great reluctance, Gisburne and Galfrid followed her advice.