Thursday 7 July

Denisot was home before the second hour of the morning after speaking with the priest, and pursed his lips when he saw the familiar figure waiting for him.

Ethor was built like the prior’s barns: massively. He had shoulders that would have suited a bull for power, and his forehead was as heavy as a destrier’s. But his long features were not unkind. He had a mass of unruly brown hair, and sharp little dark eyes, almost hidden beneath his thick brows. His moustache and beard were extravagant, a cause for annoyance with the prior he served as steward, but he refused to allow the barber near his cheeks. So, since the prior knew him to be shrewd and competent at resolving disputes between the ecclesiastical community and the people of Domps, he was permitted to keep his beard.

Denisot and he were often forced to confer. Usually a visit from Ethor presaged a call from the priory to explain some infringement of the rules, but at least, as Denisot told himself, Ethor was reasonable. They were often able to negotiate together without having to involve the prior’s court.

However, Denisot had enough to deal with today with the crucified body without having more troubles thrown in his direction. He hoped this was a simple matter.

‘My friend,’ he said as Ethor approached. ‘I am glad to see you.’

‘You soon won’t be,’ Ethor said. ‘I have no good news.’

‘Nor have I,’ Denisot said. ‘I am in the troubling situation of having discovered a dead body.’

‘You will soon have many more,’ Ethor said uncompromisingly.

Denisot frowned at that. He led the way to a bench at the side of his house, from where he could see the roadway. ‘Will you eat a little bread and cheese with me?’

Ethor nodded and Denisot bellowed for food and drink; while they waited, Denisot spoke of the body Poton had shown him.

‘Crucified? In God’s name, that is the work of the Devil!’

‘Or his agents on Earth,’ Denisot agreed heavily.

‘And what have you done about it?’ Ethor said.

‘I took her to the church and she lies there now. This afternoon we shall call the villagers together to discuss the matter.’

‘I may be able to help you,’ Ethor said.

‘How so?’

‘There are messages coming from Uzerche. The town is taken by the English.’

Denisot was generally careful to avoid curses, but he felt himself close to a profanity at that news. ‘This is certain? I had not heard of any raids being launched in our direction.’

‘You know how the English are. They will send out small parties to try their fortune,’ Ethor growled. ‘They roam over a wide area plundering the peasants. I dare say a small group rode up past us a few days ago scouting out the land for their main body, found your girl and killed her.’

Denisot’s wife, Gaillarde, appeared in the doorway, a servant boy following her with trenchers of cheese and a board holding a one-day-old loaf. She herself carried a jug of wine and two mazers and set them down on the bench near Ethor. She pointedly ignored her husband, pouring for Ethor and leaving Denisot’s cup empty. Her job done, she left the men and went back inside.

‘You been stabbing your lance in another woman?’ Ethor asked, his brows lowered so his eyes were almost entirely hidden as he gazed after her.

‘You think I have time? That harpy would probably be glad if I did. She would really have something to complain about.’

Ethor laughed. ‘I’ve seen your maid, Denisot. You mean to tell me you haven’t been asking her to serve your pork sword?’

Denisot’s face darkened. ‘Gaillarde would know in a trice if I dared.’

‘Where is she? I’ll try my own luck with her.’

‘You think my wife would allow her to come and tempt us with her charms? Suzette will be indoors cleaning or something, while Gaillarde forces the boy to come and serve guests or their master,’ Denisot said bitterly.

Ethor chuckled. ‘I see: she has you fixed. She has Suzette hidden away, and keeps you away from her at all hours. So, what’s the matter with her, then?’

Denisot gave an emphatic shrug. ‘She’s a woman. When I have learned what makes her unhappy, I will sell the cure and become as rich as a cardinal.’

Ethor chuckled and poured wine for Denisot.

Denisot took the mazer from him and the two sipped. Then Denisot set his cup aside. ‘Very well. What have you heard?’

‘The town was attacked in the night. All guards were slain where they stood, the gates were opened and the English went through the town like plums through a hound. They’ve burned and slaughtered all in their path, I hear.’

‘What will they do now?’

‘You know what the English are like,’ Ethor said. ‘They’ll ravage the place and then go on to the next. There’s no telling where they’ll try next, but I fear that it could be in our direction. We should prepare ourselves.’

Denisot nodded grimly and sipped his wine. ‘The meeting with the villagers is even more vital now. We have to prepare ourselves for attack.’

Later, when Denisot stood before the rest of the men of the village, he had to bellow at the top of his voice to kill off the hubbub. He was at the door to the village church, the body of the dead girl on the ground before him. It had been decided that the interior of the church would not provide enough space for all to view the body.

‘We can be sure that the English have been here,’ he said. ‘They have taken Uzerche, and we know that they came past us, for why else would we have this poor child found in this state?’

‘She was crucified,’ the priest said, shaking his head and crossing himself several times. ‘It is an abhorrent crime, to kill a child in this manner. To taint the image of the death of Christ!’

‘It’s a pretty foul way to kill whether it’s in the style of the Son of God or anyone else,’ Nicolas said. The peasant had a round, ruddy face with heavy jowls. He drew down the corners of his fleshy mouth and rubbed his fingers on his leather jerkin with loathing. ‘The man who could do this does not deserve to be protected by the law. He should be pulled through the streets to the top of the hill and broken on the wheel.’

‘Who knows this girl?’ Denisot said sharply. He had seen enough meetings degenerate into squabbles and arguments. With the news of Uzerche, he was keen to get the matter of the body put away so that the men could all return to the more important matter of the town’s survival.

‘I have not seen her,’ the priest said, shaking his head as he studied the body.

‘Someone must know her!’ Denisot declared, raising his voice and glaring about him. ‘Come, does no one recall seeing her on the road? At market?’

‘Perhaps,’ Ethor said, ‘she was found miles away by the English. They are all murderers and thieves, those routiers. Perhaps they discovered her at the side of the road twenty miles away and took her as a marching wife? It is the sort of thing they do.’

‘You think mercenaries would take a child like this for their beds?’ Denisot said. ‘I have heard that they kill without thinking, but if they were to take a wife they would surely have a grown woman who could march with them?’

‘No one here recognises her,’ Nicolas said. ‘She will have to be buried in a pauper’s grave. So, what of the English?’

‘We should at least ask in neighbouring towns whether anyone has gone missing,’ Denisot said. ‘Perhaps we ought to send to Chamberet – or to Sussac?’

There was a grumbling from the villagers, but when the priest stood and agreed with him, the disgruntled noise settled down. However, when it came to finding a man to take the message, the others all looked down or away.

Denisot sighed. ‘I shall go, then.’

As soon as that was announced, business moved on swiftly to the threat of mercenaries and Englishmen. ‘Has anybody heard anything since Uzerche was taken?’

‘I heard from old Remon that the day before yesterday he saw horses with thirty or more men in armour,’ Talebot said. He was a perpetually anxious-looking man, tall and grey-featured even after hours labouring in the sun. He had never recovered from the loss of his wife and two sons in the plague, and now his eyes squinted permanently as though he was still peering at the world from behind a veil of tears.

‘Remon?’ Denisot said.

He was reminded that Remon lived far to the south, perhaps a quarter of the way to Uzerche itself, almost six miles on the road to Chamberet. He had a small patch of land with a cottage, and held it as a free man. His wife was feared in every market, where her ability to negotiate discounts made her despised by all sellers, but Remon was amiable enough.

Talebot nodded as others spoke about old Remon. ‘Yes, he saw them, he says, about the last hours of daylight. They were riding incautiously, looking about them. He had no idea who they might be, but he hid himself just in case.’

‘They had no children such as this with them?’ Denisot said.

‘Not that Remon told me, but he wouldn’t have spent long looking,’ Talebot said. ‘They must have been English. If he had got too close, they would have murdered him, just as they kill all others.’

Denisot felt a flame of anger. ‘They are only men,’ he said. ‘No better nor worse than us!’

But they have the weapons,’ Talebot said.