There was an all-pervading stench of burned wood and thatch as Grandarse rode into the hamlet that afternoon.

He did not need to give orders. Clip and Dogbreath were already scurrying on foot towards the main door of the wreckage. Once this would have been an important property, with many buildings. Now it was a devastated mess, with half-butchered cattle lying rotting on the ground.

‘Anything you can find,’ Grandarse bellowed as his men scattered in among the barns and sheds.

It was a shame to see a place so devastated. Once this would have been a thriving little hamlet with enough space for three or four families. Since the plague had arrived many similar farms had been left abandoned to rot as survivors of the pestilence fled, but this place had been burned and sacked by men who delighted in horror.

‘How many?’ he asked as Clip came back.

‘Ach, seven all told, men and lads.’

‘Women?’

‘One old crone, but no others.’

‘All taken, then?

‘Or escaped. But if they escaped, why were the menfolk all slaughtered?’ Clip said. He shook his head. ‘It’s not the way Frip used to behave.’

‘He didn’t join in with the sack of towns in those days,’ Grandarse agreed, ‘but a man changes in ten years. Besides, this could have been another group. There’s nothing to say that it was Frip who commanded this.’

‘No.’

Grandarse and the men had already covered fifteen miles that morning. He had them dismount and feed and water their horses, sending Clip and Dogbreath to scout about the place while the others had some bread and meats.

‘Why us?’ Clip whined.

‘Because you’re the least valuable,’ Hawkwood called from his vintaine.

‘You think that’s funny?’ Clip scowled.

‘Yes!’ Hawkwood said, while the men around him laughed.

‘You wouldn’t cope without me and him,’ Clip sneered.

‘How could we?’ Hawkwood said. ‘We shall just have to muddle on through, if you are killed.’

‘Us? We won’t be alone.’ Clip shook his head as he returned to his accustomed prediction. ‘We’ll all be killed, you wait and see. You can chuckle now, but soon you’ll be begging for your mothers to come and save you. We’ll all die on this campaign. What, with the whole might of the French army here to avenge what we did to them at Crécy and Calais? They’ll trample us into the mud, Vintener, you mark my words. Into the mud.’

Grandarse grunted, hoicked his belt up and spat accurately into the fire. ‘But not before you’ve gone and found ’em, eh? Go on, bugger off, Clip, you lazy git.’

‘Just make sure that there’s some food kept by for them as do all the work,’ Clip said.

‘Work?’ Hawkwood said with apparent surprise.

‘Aye, well, you wouldn’t recognise it if it bit your arse,’ Clip said, leading his pony away. ‘It’s just lucky some are more dedicated than you.’

Denisot was back in the village late in the afternoon. He went to his house, carefully avoiding Suzette in case his wife should get the wrong idea, and packed a small bag. Outside he saw a young churl playing with a hoop and sent him, with the promise of a coin, to fetch Ethor. Then he went to his wife. He found her at the back, feeding grain to the chickens.

‘I don’t want you to go,’ she said when she heard he must leave once more.

‘This is a dead child, woman,’ he said. ‘I must take a cart to fetch her so that she can be buried as a child should be.’

‘Why you? You have only just returned to me!’ she said.

He saw the brittle despair in her eyes. ‘I am the bayle, Gaillarde. What would you have me do? If it were our child . . .’

He had said the wrong thing, he realised immediately.

‘Our child? We have no children, do we?’ she said, her voice a wail. ‘They are dead already, and we shall never have another!’

‘Gaillarde, my love!’

‘You are going to seek a woman!’

‘Wife, why would I? I love only you,’ he protested. ‘We are both sad, since Pons and Fabrisse died, but we are still alive. We have to be strong for their memory.’

‘You mean that?’

He took her shoulders in his hands and stared into her eyes. Deep within them he saw the fear and doubt. He could see it with ease. It was like peering into a mirror of his soul.

‘Woman, I care about children. This girl is the second I have found raped and murdered. These children could have been ours, if Pons and Fabrisse were still alive. I want to do all I can to help find the murderers, but if you want, I will remain here.’

‘You would send another?’

‘Yes. If it will help you, if it will help remind us both of how we were before God took our children.’

She sniffed and rubbed her nose with the heel of her hand. ‘Go, Denisot, but return soon.’

‘I will, my love, my wife. I will.’

They smiled at each other, and then Gaillarde pushed him away with a fleeting return of her irritation. ‘Go! You want to demand that I burst into tears, you layabout?’

He laughed, and walked away.

Friday 5 August

Denisot and Ethor had spent Thursday night at the site. First they had retrieved the girl’s body with as much care as Denisot could bring, and placed her gently on the cart’s bed. The girl was younger than Alicia, Denisot guessed. He covered her with a blanket and glanced about him, feeling weary. There was still nothing. Just a mass of flattened grasses and the impressions of boots in the mud. Later, while he lay rolled in blanket and cloak, he found he had to wipe the tears from his eyes. It was a lonely place for a young woman to die.

That morning they had another look about the area.

‘The man who could do this should be stopped before he can hurt another,’ Ethor said. ‘If he’s found, you won’t need to convene a court, Denisot.’

‘I wouldn’t want to. He must be driven by the Devil to do things like this,’ Denisot said.

They soon had the cart rattling back towards their town, the body covered by a blanket. Denisot and his friend maintained an uncomfortable silence on the way. Ethor had never married, but he knew of Denisot’s sadness at losing his own children, and could see how Denisot’s eyes kept returning to the figure under the covering. He could imagine how Denisot felt, on finding these two victims. No father liked to think of the death of his own children, but to be confronted with the deaths of others must make the loss of his own uniquely terrible and hard to bear.

Both men were so fully involved in their own thoughts that they did not hear the rattle of hoofs and clinking of harness over the rumble and thud of the cart’s wheels until it was too late.

‘Hoi! Stop, if you don’t want to be speared like a hog!’

The town was large, and the walls stood out clearly in the early light as the mists rose and smoke drifted from a hundred chimneys.

Grandarse shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t slept well the previous night, and he felt unrefreshed and irritable as he glared along the river towards the town. ‘What’s it called, you say?’

Hawkwood peered at the town from narrowed eyes. ‘Brive, they said, I think.’

Grandarse nodded. The two shepherds had been easy targets. Although they were not wealthy in terms of money, a shepherd, he had learned over the years, could be a useful source of local information. ‘It’s not the place Frip’s supposed to be.’

‘I was going to ask for more information about that, but they died,’ Hawkwood said. His tone was neutral, but there was a glint of anger in his eyes. He had given instructions not to kill the two until he had checked their stories, but Imbert had ignored his commands. One day, he thought, there would be a reckoning with Imbert.

Did they say where Uzerche lay?’ Grandarse said.

‘To the north, they thought. Up along that road.’

Grandarse nodded. There was a river at this side of the town, and beyond he could see the road winding northwards. They would have to pass over the bridge, then go on, past the town while remaining in arrow- and bolt-shot of the town, until they could pass beyond and continue.

Hawkwood voiced his concerns. ‘The river is fast enough to ensure we would need a bridge, but if we keep to the road they could destroy the bridge before we reach it, and even then they’d keep up a sharp practice against us with their bows as we passed by.’

‘Aye,’ Grandarse agreed.

‘Do you want to wait until dark?’

‘No. But we won’t cross here. Let us ride on to the next bridge or ford. It will hold us up a little, but better that than losing half our men unnecessarily.’

When Denisot looked up, there were fifteen all told, all mounted on sturdy, powerful ponies and rounseys, and all wearing mail or thick, stiffened leather, with steel bascinets to protect their heads. Most gripped long spears, while three held maces and one last carried a whip. He cracked it in the air occasionally, as though wishing he had a back to lash.

Before Denisot and Ethor could think of bolting, they were encircled, with a sparkling ring of steel threatening their breasts. Both held their hands up, glaring at the mercenaries all about them.

The man who had spoken was in his middle twenties, and had a squint in his left eye. His hair was a pale, mousy colour, and he had a thin beard of wispy gingerish hair. His face looked as though he would smile a lot, but now he glowered as he peered at the two. ‘What is in the cart?’

Denisot felt an unaccountable anger building. ‘You are English? Then you will probably know already what is in there.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What is your name?’

The young mercenary’s horse moved skittishly beneath him as he grinned. ‘You are bold enough! Still, I am content to exchange names. I am called Peter of Reading, and now, I ask that you return the compliment. What is your name?’

‘I am the Bayle of Domps, and I am named Denisot.’

‘Well, Bayle Denisot, what are you doing down here?’

‘I am here investigating a murder, and I will search for the murderer, no matter where he is.’

‘What murder?’

Denisot said nothing, but grasped the corner of the blanket and flung it away. The girl’s face was suddenly revealed.

‘Look! A child! Raped, and then nailed to a board and hung in the trees to die. Look at her! This is what men like you do in this country every day!’

Peter glanced about him at the other faces. These were battle-hardened men. Denisot saw little shock or horror. Rather, there was interest in the faces peering down at the little figure.

‘Where did you find her?’

‘She was in the woods a league south of here,’ Denisot said. ‘It was reported to me and I came to find her so that we can find her murderer if possible.’

‘You will have to look carefully,’ one man called. ‘There are enough bodies already lying about the countryside, and many murderers.’

‘I will look very carefully,’ Denisot said scornfully. ‘And I will not hesitate to bring the criminals to justice.’

‘You think to threaten us?’ Peter of Reading said.

‘I know what sort of men you are. You do not make me fearful. But no man with a soul would want to support or protect this kind of murderer. A man who rapes and then murders by crucifixion in imitation of the death of Christ, is a man who will bring all his comrades to Hell with him, for surely he is the Devil himself.’

Peter kicked his horse and his lance-point came closer and closer to Denisot. ‘Don’t forget what sort of man you are threatening, bailiff,’ he said as the tip touched Denisot’s stomach. Denisot could feel the sharp point pressing at his skin, and he steeled himself to stand still, even if he must be injured or slain. He was quite certain, seeing the look in Peter’s eyes, that he would be stabbed for sure if he tried to turn and run, but he felt no fear. He would go to Heaven, with luck, and there be reunited with his children. Soon his wife would join him, and his struggles would be over. In Heaven, all would be happiness and love. What was there here for him? He felt a slight rip at his belly, a jerk so infinitesimal it was almost unnoticeable, but he noticed it as the material of his jack gave way and then his shirt too. He could feel the oily menace of the metal against his flesh now and, looking up into Peter’s face, he was sure that the mercenary was about to thrust it home.

Then a horse broke wind. The routiers all about burst out with guffaws of laughter. As if it had all been an elaborate joke, Peter lifted his lance away and set it at the rest, chuckling. ‘You have a bold spirit, bailiff, aye, I’ll give you that! You are bold and prepared to stand your ground. I salute you! But don’t go threatening any of my companions, eh? You may find other men in my company are less amiable than me!’

‘Others are easier, too.’

‘You’ve met some of us?’

‘I’ve met Berenger and his companions.’

Peter’s face changed. His laughter was stilled and he peered closely. ‘I’d heard he escaped. That’s good. Do you know if he is safe?’

‘I left him so. He is being looked after by the monks of St Jacques,’ Denisot said without thinking.

‘Where is that?’

‘Many miles from here.’

Peter gave another laugh. ‘He was a friend of mine, bailiff. I won’t seek to hurt him. As proof, I won’t even ask where the monastery is. But you should be careful in your dealings about here. Watch out for my companions. As I said, not all are as friendly as me.’

So saying, he gave a sharp whistle, and the array of lances was lifted away. The riders turned their mounts and set off up the road again, riding at a gentle canter, keeping a loose formation of riders side-by-side in pairs.

Ethor took a deep breath.

‘We’ve been friends a long time, you and me, Denisot. Let me just tell you, if you ever try to accuse a vintaine of mercenaries of something like that again, you will die.’

‘I didn’t think.’

‘Because if you ever do that again, I’ll throttle you myself!’