Julitta gripped Benedict's sleeve. 'It does not matter now that I've found you. I'll willingly return to our lodgings.' She smiled through her tears. 'I will even bow to my husband and admit that I was wrong to fear for your safety.'
'You weren't wrong,' he contradicted. 'If I am here now, it is because of a Moorish physician named Faisal ibn Mansour.' Abruptly he turned to the groom. 'I will escort Lady Julitta back to her lodgings. You can go and find Lord Mauger and tell him I am here and that I take full responsibility.'
Austin deliberated, saw that it was the best that could be salvaged from the situation, and departed in haste to find his master.
Together, Julitta and Benedict began to walk. 'Are you staying in the city?' she asked.
Benedict shook his head. 'No. We sailed up from Corunna on a horse transport galley, and we sleep there.'
His use of 'we' caused Julitta to make a wrong assumption. 'Is Gisele there now?'
'No,' he said quietly. 'Gisele is… is dead.' He lengthened his stride as if to outpace the thought and Julitta had almost to run to keep up.
'Dead? What happened?'
'Let it wait until Mauger comes. It's not something I want to relive more than I must.' He swallowed and glanced at her sidelong. 'It has been a hard road, Julitta.'
'I'm sorry.' It sounded inadequate, but she could think of nothing else to say.
Benedict shrugged and said nothing. They walked on in uncomfortable silence until they came to the wharves and the ships riding at anchor. He showed her his transport galley, theConstantine. It was one of the larger ships in dock, with two decks, and the forward hull doors. 'We load the hones in there for the journey, and then seal them in with pitch,' he explained. 'It means there is more room, and more animals can be loaded at a given time. Once we're underway, we get down to them by hatches and ladders from the top deck.' He went into a detailed explanation of the techniques involved, drawing away from the rip-tide words Gisele is dead. And Julitta followed his lead, nodding sensibly, asking questions whose replies she was not later to recall.
Then Benedict suddenly paused in mid-explanation and shaded his eyes against the sun as a figure emerged from the depths of the vessel and came walking down the gangplank on bandy legs. His tunic was tattered at cuff and hem; he wore a battered felt pilgrim hat on his head, and his face was browner than the oak boards of the vessel's deck. His lower jaw was working busily, folding into his upper as he chewed some black concoction from one side of his mouth to the other. Julitta recognised him from her walk the previous day, and after a momentary recoil, held her ground.
Beside her, Benedict had relaxed, and there was even a smile on his lips.
The old man reached them and leered at Julitta through his horrible, milky eyes.
'Hah!' he said to Benedict in a harsh voice. 'Been doing some trading on the sly, have you?' He looked Julitta up and down as if assessing the points of a horse. 'Something to keep you warm on the journey to Rouen, eh?'
Benedict went red beneath his tan. 'Sancho, I want you to meet Julitta. Do you remember, I spoke of her to you when I told you about my home?'
Sancho appraised Julitta more thoroughly, chewing with great vigour on his liquorice root. 'Rare,' he approved, nodding his head. The leer narrowed. He spat out of the side of his mouth. 'Where's the husband?'
'Being fetched.' Benedict turned to Julitta, sensing her barely contained anger at being thus treated. 'Julitta, this is Sancho, the best stud overseer in all of Castile — for all that he looks like a brigand and he hasn't any manners,' he added pointedly.
'Waste of time,' Sancho growled. 'Say what you mean and be done with it.'
Julitta exchanged glances with Benedict. He saw irritation in her eyes, and a sparkle of amusement. 'What have you told him about me?'
'Everything that I should know,' Sancho interjected. 'And as private as the confessional. I may be a mannerless oaf, but I know when to stitch my lips.'
Which meant that he knew everything. This time it was Julitta who blushed.
Sancho cocked his head to one side. 'So how come you to be in Bordeaux, my lady?'
'My husband is here to buy warhorses at the market for Robert of Normandy, and he desired to bring me with him on this occasion.'
'Ah,' said Sancho. 'Keeping his treasure chest where he can see it.' His eyes glimmered like moonstones, and he grinned wolfishly at Benedict. 'Trouble is, he left it unlocked, didn't he?'
Benedict pulled a warning face at the old man. 'I thought you knew when to stitch your lips,' he said.
'I do,' Sancho retorted. 'Most of the time.'
Sancho insisted on accompanying Benedict and Julitta to the lodging house. He would be a chaperone, he said. Nothing unseemly could possibly happen with him in attendance. Benedict was not certain that he agreed. Sancho's tongue was a razor, and as a matter of bad habit he used it to cut. But at least Julitta would arrive home under the escort of two men instead of just himself. He decided that Mauger would judge the little overseer's presence the lesser of the two evils.
Mauger was already at Madame Clothilde's, his face like thunder, his fist clamped around a goblet of wine which he was just draining as Benedict walked in. The groom stood a little to one side, a fresh red graze on his cheek, his eyes afraid.
The presence of others held Mauger's temper in check, although every muscle was corded and tense. 'I told you to stay,' he said to Julitta, his voice hoarse with the effort of control.
'I was right about Benedict,' she defied him, her chin raised, her body quivering, 'but you chose not to listen.'
'He looks remarkably hale and hearty to me,' Mauger said coldly.
'Late spring he wasn't,' Sancho said, and removing his battered felt hat, sat down on a bench near the window embrasure.
Mauger eyed him with disfavour. 'Who are you?'
'I'm head overseer of the stud belonging to Rodrigo Diaz of Bivar, although that will mean nothing to a barbarian such as you.' Sancho spat his wad of chewed liquorice root onto the floor.
Disgust flared Mauger's nostrils. 'You call me a barbarian?' His gaze swept over the haphazard assembly of rags before him.
'He knows more than either of us,' Benedict defended swiftly, 'and probably more than Rolf, since he's been alive that much longer.'
'I don't believe you,' Mauger said through compressed lips.
'Believe what you want, it's the truth.'
Madame Clothilde appeared then, bearing more wine and two large baskets of bread and fresh fruit. She too looked at Sancho as if she considered him a barbarian whom she would rather not entertain beneath her roof.
She deposited the food and departed to her cooking pot, wiping her hands on her apron and muttering.
Mauger replenished his wine cup and took another long drink. 'Where is Gisele?' he asked.
Benedict hesitated. When he spoke, his voice was devoid of expression. 'She lies in a small chapel on the pilgrim road to Compostella.' His hand shook slightly as he took a drink of his own wine. It was still difficult to talk about. He could feel the weight of Mauger's stare, studying his reactions, judging them. 'We were attacked by Basque brigands in the mountains and she was killed – an arrow through the heart. All of our pilgrim group were slaughtered except me. I…' He broke off with a shuddering breath. It was impossible to continue.
Mauger cleared his throat. His gaze slid away from Benedict, and he tilted his cup to his mouth. 'I am sorry,' he said gruffly.
The sound of Benedict's ragged breathing was loud in the silence. Julitta chewed her lip. Her eyes flickered once to her husband, and then, with sudden decision, she went to Benedict and put her arms around him. 'I am sorry too,' she said. 'She was my sister; she deserved better of life, and of death.'