Tuesday 20 September

Berenger woke to the sound of clattering. When he opened his eyes fully and stared over the field of the dead, he saw a handcart. Dogbreath and Nick were there with the archer’s cart, collecting all the spare arrows, but also taking any remnants of iron or steel that other men had missed. Sprinkled over the field were other men, similarly engaged.

He started a fire and mixed himself a small oatcake with a handful of his remaining bag of oats. It was light now, and he weighed the remains of it in his palm, thinking of all the men he had known. He remembered the men from the Crécy campaign: Jack, Geoff and the others, and now this. No more Grandarse, no more of Clip’s irrepressible ‘Ye’ll all get killed!’ and he felt a deep sadness to think that they were gone.

‘How bad was the carnage up here, Frip?’

He looked up to see Ed. The Donkey had hollows at his cheeks, and the dark bruises under his eyes spoke of the lack of sleep he had enjoyed.

‘See for yourself. You were uninjured?’

He touched the back of his head wryly. ‘A pommel caught my head and put me out of the fight. I was lucky not to have worse. Archibald pulled me to safety.’

‘I am sorry about Béatrice.’

‘It was horrible. I think I don’t want to serve gonnes again. Seeing what it did to her . . .’ He broke off, staring at the field of bodies. ‘I don’t think I could loose one again.’

Berenger said nothing. After some moments, he held out the bag of oats to Ed. He took it, and slowly mixed a patty, adding water from his bottle. ‘What will you do?’

‘I don’t know. I really don’t know,’ Ed said. ‘I mean, I’ve always been in the army. And now we have their King, so there won’t be any more wars. What can I do? Without Béatrice, without the army . . .’

He looked at Berenger, and in his face there was real fear.

‘Frip, what is there for me?’

Others in the camp were being struck by the same thought.

Over with his vintaine, Hawkwood eyed his men. They were not the most effective of fighters, but they had done more than many. He had a grudging sense of pride in them.

‘What will you bastards do now?’ he asked. Robin had been walking past and stopped to listen.

‘Us?’ an older warrior asked. He bared his two teeth in what Hawkwood hoped was intended to be a smile. ‘We’ll drink, eat, and shag as many women as our money will buy!’

‘Is that all? What about when your money is gone?’ Hawkwood said.

‘That’s far enough off,’ the man said, to general applause.

‘Just think, lads,’ Hawkwood said. ‘You’ve won a lot today, but now the whole of France is in a turmoil. The whole country, boys. All the way from Galicia to Brittany is without a king. It seems to me that for a while there will be money for a bold man and a brave bunch of men. The Prince doesn’t need us any more. He’s off back to Guyenne and thence to London to show off his captives, but we could do a lot worse than stay here. Fripper took a town or two and lived like a Lord. Why shouldn’t we do the same?’

‘You reckon we could do that?’ another man said. He looked thoughtful.

‘I reckon we could do better than him. There’s good lands down south, so I’ve heard. The Pope didn’t go live at Avignon because it was cold, wet and miserable. There are lands down there that a man could take and enjoy for years.’

‘With just eighteen men?’ Robin said.

Hawkwood smiled wolfishly, and cast an eye at Robin. ‘No, master. But with the men of Fripper’s old company, we’d be nearer a hundred, and I’ll bet we could collect more as we went. So, what do you men say?’

Berenger found Gaillarde and Denisot later in the morning.

Gaillarde had made some effort to clean her hair and wash her clothing, and now it was still hanging from her in sodden bags, but Berenger could not miss the alteration in the faces of her and Denisot. They looked like newlyweds, or a youth and his first lover. He had no need to guess how they had occupied themselves that morning.

‘I hope I see you well, Denisot,’ he said.

‘We are very well, Vintener.’

‘Do you have any plans?’

Gaillarde nodded. ‘We have to return to Domps. It was only a tiny town, but it was our home. Our friends would want us to return.’

‘There are likely to be all too few living there,’ Berenger said.

‘We know that. But if nothing else, we can bury our friends,’ Denisot said. ‘They deserve that.’

‘So you will go?’

‘Yes, if you give us your permission,’ Denisot said.

‘As to that, you owe me no allegiance,’ Berenger said. ‘You joined my vintaine for a period, but I never asked for your oath to me or to the Prince. As far as I am concerned, you are free to leave whenever you wish.’

He took Denisot’s hand, and the two men embraced a last time before Denisot took his wife’s hand. The two had blankets rolled and tied, and Denisot had a costrel at his waist; his scrip looked as though it was full of bread or meat. Berenger watched as the two made their way down the path to the river, and then out of sight.

‘They’ve gone then?’

It was Peter of Reading. He stood chewing a piece of dried meat, and he cut off a slice for Berenger and held it out to him on his knife’s blade.

‘It’s good.’

Peter gave a grin. ‘And I didn’t steal it! I paid a brother at the abbey in Montaillou for it. I think they have a good recipe for their dried and cured meats.’

‘Monks have the best recipes for anything like that,’ Berenger said.

He felt weary, but now he was realising that he felt more an emptiness inside. His life for the last month or more had been driven to seeking out and killing Will and the murderer of Alazaïs and her children, and now that Will was dead, the focus of his life was taken from him.

‘It’s odd, isn’t it? To think that we’ve caught the King of France! The King himself!’

Berenger nodded. ‘Aye. It means our presence is no longer needed here.’

‘There are a number of men here who’ll leave here with full purses and reach their homes with little left,’ Peter said. ‘An English soldier with money is easy prey.’

‘It was ever the way,’ Berenger agreed.

‘Would you come back to our company?’

‘What?’ Berenger burst out, startled. ‘Me? After some of the men tried to kill me?’

‘Your speedy defence and killing of them would be enough to prevent a repetition of that,’ Peter said. ‘Besides, you’d have me and the other vinteners working for you. Even Hawkwood. He’s keen to come with us. I thought we could become a great army, a Grand Company. We could have our own gynours, farriers, armourers, cooks and all else needful.’

Berenger laughed. ‘You think so? No. I am done with war. I will retreat a last time, this time into obscurity. I will join a monastery, if there is one which will have me.’

‘The offer remains open.’

‘I thank you for that. Tell me, what happened to Arnaud?’

Peter’s face hardened like boiled leather. ‘He was executed.

His body still dangles. I won’t cut him down. He went to his death gloating over all the women he killed, saying God will be glad to take him.’

‘His god is the Devil.’