Berenger stared, but then stood, gripping his sword. Will smiled easily, and three other men rose from their tables.

‘Feel lucky, Frip?’ Will said.

Berenger cursed him and set off to return to Alazaïs’s house. He must return before she was attacked. As he went, he became aware that Loys was at his side. ‘Leave me, boy! I am dead already,’ he said. ‘Go back to Will and you will be safe for now, but leave the company as soon as you can.’

‘I’ll stay with you. You are my commander. I won’t stay with Will.’

‘It is your choice then,’ Berenger said. He felt oddly comforted by the fact that one man would stay by his side. They were at the top of the street where the house stood, and as he peered along it, he could hear laughter and the sound of splintering wood. He ran, his sword grasped firmly in his fist, and pelted in at the front door, his back and torn flank shrieking with agony. There came a scream, and as he entered, he saw five men in the passageway. He threw himself on those nearest him.

Their attention was fixed on the door to the steps that led upstairs to the bedchambers. They were alternately beating upon it with their fists and tugging at the timbers. One had a sword out and was trying to lever the door open at the risk of ruining his blade.

The first died before he knew he was being attacked. Berenger’s sword slid under his ribs, and then he wrenched it as he pulled it free, and the corridor was filled with the smell of blood and shit as the man gave a sharp gasp and fell. Beside him was a bearded man with brown hair under his cap, and he gaped to see his companion collapse, but then he thrust himself away as Berenger’s blade slipped near his throat.

Berenger had drawn his long knife as well, and thrust with that at the bearded man, who ducked behind the man with the sword. Berenger’s knife caught that man’s throat, opening his neck. A fine spray of red misted the corridor and then a gush of thick blood pumped over Berenger and the others. He felt the warmth on his face and breast, and as he took the fight to the next man, he felt only elation. Fighting and killing made him feel alive. He stabbed and thrust, and Loys joined him. In the narrowing corridor, their opponents were hampered. While Loys and Berenger pushed them back, these others could not fight. They were drunk on Alazaïs’s wine, and had not expected to be attacked. Soon another man was screaming on the floor, his hamstrings cut and a pool of blood spreading from a wound in his leg. He tripped one of the remaining two men, and Berenger stabbed quickly, his sword entering the man’s skull just over his ear. Then there was only the bearded man left. He was still tugging at the door.

Berenger moved closer to kill him, but as he did so, the door finally gave way and Alazaïs appeared in it, a war hammer with a protruding spike in her hands. She tried to swing it at the man’s head, but he moved underneath it and caught her hand, turning, so that she was pulled between him and Berenger. She was held there, two steps up the staircase, gripped by his left arm about her waist, and he wrenched the war hammer from her hand with ease, smiling.

‘What do you want, Fripper? Want her dead? Keep on coming. I’ll put a spike in her head that’ll stop her heart in a second. Want that?’

‘Let her go and I’ll let you go.’

‘Right, I can trust your word, can I?’ the man sneered. He deliberately moved his hand from her waist to her breast and clutched it. Alazaïs’s face went cold and grey at his touch. ‘Good feel, this. She has a nice body. I can share her, if you want a go too. But I expect you’ve already enjoyed her, eh?’

Berenger felt her despair and horror like a physical pain in his chest. The mercenary had begun to pull Alazaïs up the rest of the stairs with him, keeping her before him like a shield. There was nothing Berenger could do to prevent him. Berenger was tired already, and his back felt as though his injury had been ripped wide again, but he dare not put his sword down. He didn’t want to see Alazaïs made to suffer more than she already had. She stared at him with a brittle expression of fear, overwhelmed by the horror of what lay in store for her.

‘You know you can trust me,’ Berenger said. ‘I have been in charge of the company for the last seven months. You know me. If I give my word, you know I can be trusted.’

‘Men break their oaths when it comes to their women.’ The man kept on going up the stairs, pulling Alazaïs with him.

Berenger walked up, holding his gaze as he went.

‘Keep back! You come too close and she’ll get a pain in her head that won’t go away!’

Berenger kicked out and hooked his ankle behind Alazaïs’s knee. She collapsed suddenly like a pole-axed horse, and although the mercenary swung his hammer, it was too late. She was too low and falling down the stairs, knocking Berenger from his feet.

The mercenary swore, turned and fled up the stairs.

‘My children!’ Alazaïs wailed.

Berenger sprang over her clumsily and hurried up the stairs. There was a corner at the top, and he took that warily, anxiously jerking his head around it, hoping not to receive a death-blow from the hammer, but the man wasn’t there. He was already at the far end of the room, and now he had his knife out and held it to the throat of Alazaïs’s oldest son, Perrin. The ten-year-old was shivering and crying, but every time he tried to wipe his eyes, the man holding him smacked his hand away.

The sight of the lad’s terror and the mercenary’s harsh response was enough to make the blood burn like acid in Berenger’s heart. He gritted his teeth.

Loys was behind him. Berenger took some comfort from that as he waved his sword’s point and edged around the room.

‘Come closer, and I’ll stick the bratchet!’

‘You hurt him and you won’t leave this room alive,’ Berenger said. He was sweating now. If only there was a jug of wine somewhere near. He could do with a long draught. But if he did, he would be still more incapable of freeing the boy. He had to get the boy.

There was a sudden clamour from the hall below. Berenger heard Will’s voice calling up the stairs. ‘Frip? Don’t try to take my head off. I’m here to help. Belot, don’t do anything. I’m coming up with an idea that may help us all.’

His face appeared at the top of the stairs, and he gave a momentary frown to see how the boy was gripped. ‘Belot, let the boy go, in Christ’s name! What’s he done to you?’

‘Soon as I do, Fripper’s going to use his sword. He’s blaming me for all this, and it’s not even my fault!’ the man called Belot said.

‘Let him go!’ Will said.

Reluctantly, Belot stared from Berenger to Will, and then shrugged and took his knife away. At the same he gave the boy a shove that propelled him towards Berenger, who only just moved his blade away in time.

‘Are you well, boy?’ he asked gruffly.

‘Yes, master.’ The lad was as terrified by Berenger as he was by Belot. All he knew was that these mercenaries had appeared almost two weeks ago, and now they were fighting. He was petrified.

‘Good.’ Looking up, Berenger saw Will walk to his man and drop a gauntleted fist onto his shoulder. Berenger pushed the boy gently towards the stairs and his mother.

‘Let it go, Frip. Let Belot here alone. You have been with the company for long enough. There are two options here: I can have you killed, which would be easy enough, but messy; you have already killed two yesterday, half-crippled another, and killed three more today.’

‘Four today.’

‘Four? In God’s name, it had seemed so straightforward to remove you! You see? So, I think the second approach would be easier. Either submit to me and agree to serve again as a vintener, or leave with my blessing. You can go anywhere you want, with your horse and some food to take with you. Which will it be?

‘Take the woman, take her children too. You can go with them wherever you want, if you don’t want to remain a part of the company. But you won’t return.’

‘You mean this? You will allow us to leave?’

Will shrugged. ‘Come, let us get some food and wine. You and I have been allies for long enough.’

‘We were,’ Berenger said warily, but he allowed Will to persuade him. He had little choice. Will had the entire force at his command, so it seemed. At least Will did not try to suggest that they had been friends.

He followed Will down the stairs. Alazaïs and her two sons followed. Berenger could hear that Perrin and Charlot, his younger brother, were both snivelling, but at least they weren’t complaining. That much sense had been battered into their heads, apparently, since the arrival of the English.

English! Only a quarter of the men were truly English. As for the rest, the majority were adventurers from every corner of France and the Holy Roman Empire. There was even that wiry man who claimed to come from a land with high mountains near Morgarten. He had the calmest blue eyes Berenger had ever seen, but there was a coldness about him that didn’t allow for companionability or friendship. In any case, the land he described didn’t sound convincing to Berenger. Mountains that were capped with snow all year round, high cliffs and plunging valleys. Fulk claimed that his father had helped destroy a French army some years ago, but that sounded unlikely to Berenger too.

All he knew was, men whom he could trust were rare. It was not like the glory days when he had been a centener in King Edward III’s army when they won their glorious victory.

At the bottom of the stairs, Will led the way out into the open. Alazaïs would have remained in her house, but Berenger took her hand and led her from her home. ‘Stay here and I cannot protect you, or your sons,’ he said. She nodded and brought her boys with her.

For some moments, Berenger stood in the doorway, waiting. Outside almost all the company had gathered, and he had a quick certainty that they were there to see to his end. He expected to be grabbed and dragged away to a gallows, there to be hanged. It was the normal way for those who broke the unwritten rules of the company: a death, swift and sure.

But Berenger had broken no rules. His failure lay in imposing rules on the men that they had decided to reject. They were not here on a war footing, but were enjoying the spoils of their victory over the town. They wanted to enjoy it still more. For that reason they had agreed to depose Berenger.

‘Well?’ he demanded.

There was a shuffling and some of the men looked away. Loys was at his side, and as Berenger looked about the rest of the men, he saw Fulk peering at him. His eyes were the colour of the sky reflected on a calm lake in midsummer, a deep blue that was almost indigo. Fulk stepped forward. As always, he carried a long-handled halberd with a blade on one side, a spike at the top and a hammer on the reverse. It was his weapon of choice, and having seen how he could wield it, Berenger knew how fearsome it could be.

‘What?’ he said.

The Swiss grinned, then shrugged and set his head to one side. He was blond and handsome in his confidence. ‘You would give up the command without fighting? You would walk away from us, your company? All to protect this woman?’

‘If I was to fight Will, who would support me?’ Berenger looked about the men of the crowd, and felt a perverse pleasure to see how the men averted their eyes from him. It was an affirmation of sorts. The other new man, Arnaud, held his gaze and smiled as if confused, but his brother, Bernard, glowered like an angry bear. At least his decision was proved right. Only Saul of Plymouth held his gaze without wavering.

‘You would do this?’ Fulk pressed.

‘For her and her children, yes,’ Berenger said, his attention pulled back to the Swiss.

In the crowd, Saul hawked and spat, then picked up his pack and walked towards Berenger.

‘What do you want?’ Berenger said.

Saul was shorter than Berenger, and had a face that looked like old leather, with wrinkles on top of wrinkles. His hair was faded, and receded badly from his brow, leaving a round patch of fluff. He met Berenger’s gaze now with a steady certainty. ‘God love you, Frip, you’re a man of pride and honour, but you’re only one against all the company. You need at least one man to stand with you. Mind you, if they attack us now, boy, we’re fucked,’ he said.

Berenger’s stern expression cracked. ‘Thank you.’

‘Keep your sword at the ready,’ Saul said, and stood at his side.