With a curt nod to Geoffrey, Caerdig rode away into the gathering dusk, taking with them the mule that Barlow had borrowed after his own mount had been killed by the mysterious archer. Barlow watched them go resentfully.
“We should have slain him while we had the chance,” he said. “I was expecting to feel a dagger between my shoulder blades every step of the way.”
Ingram readily agreed. “We could slip after him now,” he said, addressing Geoffrey. “It would only take a moment, and think how pleased your family will be when they hear we have dispensed with one of their enemies. They might even reward us.”
“And so might I,” said Geoffrey dryly. “But not in a way you would appreciate. What is wrong with you? We had an agreement with the man. Have you no honour?”
“Horses are worthy of honourable treatment,” said Ingram, fondly rubbing the velvet nose of Geoffrey’s destrier. “But not people. Especially not enemies.”
And who was the enemy? Geoffrey wondered. In the Holy Land it was usually obvious, but Geoffrey was about to enter a household in which one of his siblings was poisoning his father, had attempted to kill his sister, and had very possibly tried to shoot him three days before.
He stood next to Helbye, pointing out the shallowest route across the stream. Then they went through the charade they had played out each time they had reached water on their long journey home. Destriers were far too valuable to be allowed to splash blindly through rivers where they might stumble and injure themselves, and so someone had to lead them. Helbye always offered to perform this invariably unpleasant task for his lord-rivers were often deep and usually muddy. But Geoffrey knew that Helbye suffered from aching joints, and that being wet made them worse.
Yet he also knew that the older man’s pride was a delicate matter, and that he would never admit to such incapacity. So each time Helbye offered to lead Geoffrey’s mount, Geoffrey declined on a variety of pretexts, ranging from a sudden desire to cool his feet to a need to stretch his legs by walking. This worked to the advantage of Ingram and Barlow, for Geoffrey could scarcely accept an offer from them after declining Helbye.
Watching the swirling black water, Geoffrey silently cursed Helbye’s pride, which meant that he, and not one of his soldiers, would be fording the river on foot. He wondered what his fellow knights would think, had they known to what extent his soft-heartedness had led him.
A sudden pitiful whine gave him his excuse this time. Geoffrey’s dog darted this way and that along the bank, declining to step into the chilly water, but sensing it would have to cross.
“I need to carry my dog,” he said, snatching up the black-and-white animal. It was heavy, and he wondered how it had managed to gain weight on a journey that had left everyone else leaner.
Barlow climbed onto Ingram’s horse, pretending not to notice Geoffrey’s disapproval at the way the poor beast staggered under the combined weight of two men and their heavy baggage.
“I can take the dog,” called Barlow cheerfully, holding out one hand.
“I hardly think so,” said Geoffrey coolly. “Unless you plan to walk. That poor horse is overloaded as it is.”
“It is my horse,” muttered Ingram resentfully, so low that Geoffrey was not certain whether he had heard him correctly. At any other time, Geoffrey would not have tolerated such insolence from his men, but they were only a few miles from home, where the young soldiers would no longer be under his command, and Geoffrey felt he could not be bothered.
“If you will not consider your horse, then think of yourself,” said Geoffrey, hoisting his struggling dog over his shoulder. “If you fall off because the horse stumbles, you will sink because your armour will drag you down. And then you might drown.”
The two soldiers exchanged a look of consternation. Geoffrey was right. Although neither wore the weighty chain-mail, heavy surcoat, and hefty broadsword that Geoffrey did, their boiled leather leggings and hauberks would certainly be enough to make swimming difficult.
“We will not fall off,” said Ingram, after a moment of doubt.
Barlow shivered, and his voice took on a wheedling quality. “It is January, Sir Geoffrey, and not a month for wading through rivers. Look-there is ice at the edge. And anyway, I do not want to arrive home after four years all sodden and bedraggled. What would they think of us?”
“Please yourself,” said Geoffrey tiredly. He did not relish the thought of stepping into the icy water himself, but he was certainly not prepared to risk his destrier just because he did not want to get his feet wet. Taking the horse’s reins in one hand and holding the whining dog over his shoulder, he stepped off the bank and into the river.
The cold was so intense it took his breath away, and he immediately lost the feeling in his legs. Helbye followed on horseback, while Ingram ignored the route they were taking and chose one of his own. The water was deeper than Geoffrey had anticipated, and swirled around his waist, tugging at his long surcoat, so that he began to doubt whether he would be able to keep his balance. He wrapped his hand more tightly round the reins, and forced himself to move faster. And then he was across, splashing through the shallows and scrambling up the bank on the other side. Geoffrey dropped the dog, which immediately began to bark at the trees, and turned to wait for Ingram and Barlow.
Not surprisingly, Ingram’s horse was having problems. The weight of two riders and the pull of the deeper water chosen by Ingram were proving too much for it. Ingram tried to spur it on, but it was already up to its withers and was becoming alarmed. Geoffrey could see that it was only a matter of time before Ingram and Barlow were tipped off.
Helbye made a gesture of annoyance as he watched. “We must help them, Sir Geoffrey, or you will be forced to break the news to their families that you brought them unscathed through four years of battles, only to lose them in the river a couple of miles from home.”
Geoffrey took a length of rope he occasionally used to tether the dog, and waded back into the river, cursing Ingram under his breath. Barlow was already in the water, clinging desperately to the saddle with one hand, while the other gripped his treasure-laden saddlebags. Geoffrey felt his feet skidding and sliding on the weed-clad rocks of the riverbed, and realised that the current was much stronger here than where he had crossed. He threw his rope to Ingram, who caught it and gazed at it helplessly.
“Tie it round the horse’s neck,” yelled Geoffrey exasperated, and wondering how someone with Ingram’s speed of thinking had managed to survive the Crusade. “And let go of your bags, Barlow! Hold on to the saddle with both hands, or you will be swept away.”
“No!” cried Barlow, clutching harder still at his booty. He was silenced from further reply by a slapping faceful of water.
Geoffrey hauled on the rope, urging the horse towards him. Ingram, white-faced, began to slip off his saddle, and then he fell just as Geoffrey had managed to coax the horse to shallower water. Geoffrey’s lunge at his hair brought him spluttering and choking to his feet.
“Now, the next time Sir Geoffrey tells you that your horse is overloaded, you might listen to him,” shouted Helbye angrily from the riverbank. “Foolish boy!”
“Where is Barlow?” asked Geoffrey sharply.
All three of them gazed at the empty saddle: Barlow had lost his grip and had been swept away, just as Geoffrey had predicted.
“Oh, no!” whispered Helbye, white-faced. “Not Barlow! His father is my oldest friend, and I promised him I would look after the lad! What will I tell him now?”
“Stay with the horses!” Geoffrey ordered Ingram, who was gaping at the swirling river in horror. “Helbye, come with me!”
He waded back to the bank, and began to run downstream, feeling even more burdened down than usual, with the lower half of his surcoat sopping wet and adding to the weight of his chain-mail. His breath came in ragged gasps-the dense armour of fully equipped knights was not designed for running. He crashed through the undergrowth with the dog barking in excitement at his heels, and came to a wide pond located at a bend in the river. With sudden, absolute clarity, he recalled swimming in it as a child, and remembered that it was very deep.