His depiction gave me chills. “Are they from Stephen?” I asked.
“Could be.” He shrugged. We watched them watching us, showing no concern about our larger ranks. “Mercenaries. He has used them before.”
“Have the men fan along the ravine,” I said. I hoped to make a show of strength. This threat had come upon us so suddenly. “Lances to the front in case they charge.”
“Keep the horses in reserve,” Daniel said. “If these bastards come at us, they’ll do so on foot. To a Languedocian, it’s a sign of cowardice not to.”
Everyone rushed into formation. Then we stood there, hearts tense, holding our shields. The field was silent.
“Seems a good enough day to meet my maker.” Odo strapped on his mallet. “If you’re still listening, God.”
All of a sudden, there was movement in the Languedocian camp. Get ready. I gripped my lance.
Then two riders rode out from the pack and galloped toward us.
“They wish to talk,” Daniel said.
“I’ll go,” I said. “Here.” I turned to Odo. “Hold the lance.”
“I’ll go with you,” Daniel said.
Daniel and I rode out between the armies. The two Languedocians sat there indifferently, eyeing us as we came up to them. One was large and stout, built like an ox. The other was leaner but just as mean looking. For a moment, no one spoke. We just regarded one another, circling.
Finally, the ox grunted a few words in a French I could barely make out. “You are the jester Hugh? The one with the lance?”
“I am,” I replied.
“You’re the little fart who has led the peasants and bondmen against their lords?” the other growled.
[377] “We’ve risen up in the face of murder and oppression,” I replied.
Ox snickered. “You don’t look so big. We were told you were eight fucking feet tall.”
“If we have to fight, it will seem that,” I said.
The Languedocians looked me up and down in a way I could not read. Then they looked at each other and started to laugh. “Fight you?” The big one chortled. “We’ve come to join you, fool. Word reached us you intend to march on Treille. We are sworn enemies of that prick Baldwin. We’ve been enemies of Treille for two hundred years.”
I looked at Daniel and we broke into grins. “This is good news… but you’re too late. Treille is already taken. We are marching on Borée.”
“Borée?” the thinner one said. “You mean against that prick Stephen?”
I nodded. “The same.”
For a moment, the two Languedocians drew their horses close and huddled together. I could hardly understand the tongue they were speaking in. Then Ox looked back to me and shrugged. “All right, we march on Borée.”
He raised his sword to his ranks and they erupted-lifting their swords and spears in a riotous cheer.
“You’re lucky.” Ox grinned through his beard. “We’ve been enemies of Borée for three hundred years.”
Chapter 129
STEPHEN WAS IN his dressing room when Anne stormed in and found him, in a chair, peeling an apple. Annabella, a lady of the court, was bent over his waist, swallowing his cock.
At the sight of Anne, Annabella gagged. She jumped, frantically replacing Stephen’s leggings as if to hide the evidence. Stephen looked on, seeming not to care.
“Oh, do not bother, Annabella.” Anne sighed. “When the lord hears what news I bear, we shall all be amused to see to what size his manhood shrinks.”
The lady smoothed her ruffled tresses, curtsied, then scurried out of the room.
“These are my private quarters, not your parlor,” Stephen said, hitching himself up. “And do not feign offense, dear wife, since you obviously knew what business you would find here.”
“I do not feign offense.” Anne eyed him sharply. “Only regret, to have interrupted you from such pressing work.”
“So.” Stephen rose. “By all means, let me know. What’s the big surprise?”
“A runner has arrived from Sardoney. He’s brought word that your little jester is on the way. Two days out. With his lance.”
“This is the news you thought would disarm me?” Stephen seemed to yawn, taking another deep bite from his apple. “That this poor fool marches on us? Why should this mean any more [379] to me than a bite of this fruit, I say? But come,” he said, eyeing the bulge in his hose, “as long as the table is set, why not put the little weasel to some work?”
Anne crept behind him and smoothed her hands across his chest, even though the pretense of such affection was as repulsive to her as kissing a snake. She bent down to his ear and whispered, “It is not the fool that I thought would concern you, my husband.” She rubbed her hand near his cock. “But the thousand men who march along with him.”
“What?” Stephen twisted around. He screwed up his face in disbelief.
“Oh, has the weasel crept back in his little cave?” Anne laughed. “Yes, my liege, apparently an army follows him that is even greater than before. An army of lost souls, heretics, thanks to you. And thanks to Baldwin, fully armed.”
Stephen jumped out of his seat, hot with rage. “Impossible! They damn their souls to follow him.”
“No, husband, it is your soul that is damned.”
“Get out of my way.” Stephen shot out his hand. It slashed across Anne’s face, knocking her to the floor. “If you have any hope for that little brat you call your cousin, you will mock me no more.”
“If you harm her, Stephen…” Anne forced herself up to her palms.
Stephen burned his gaze right through her. He moved as if to strike again. She did not flinch. Then the color came back into his face, and he softened and knelt, cupping her quivering face in the palm of his hand.
“Why would I want to hurt her, my precious wife? She is a part of you.” He raised himself, smoothing his tunic, the veins in his forehead now calm. “I have merely detained her for her own protection. There are dangerous conspirators about who plan us harm, even within these very walls. Haven’t you heard?”
Chapter 130
“LOOK.” Men began to point. “Up on the hill. There it is. Borée!”
Above the rolling hills of vineyards and farms, its limestone towers rose with roofs of blue, like lapis etched into the sky. There was the facade of the famous cathedral, gleaming white; and the castle that I had stayed in, its donjons reaching to the sky-where Emilie was.
As we neared, the exhilaration spread: “I’m gonna take Stephen in one arm and his largest hen in the other, and squeeze them till they both lay a fucking egg,” a boastful farmer yelled.
Behind me, my new army stretched for nearly a mile. In every row, men marched in different clothing: tailors, woodsmen, and farmers in their own garb, but with thrown-together mail and helmets they had swiped from Baldwin. They carried pennants from their towns, pikes and clubs and bows on their backs. Some even spoke different dialects.
The vast line included men and horses, carts drawn by heavy oxen, and catapults, mangonels, and trebuchets with their loads of heavy stone. All beat a cloud of dust that seemed to smother the sky.
But the giddy boasts and dares began to fade the closer we got to Borée. This was no ant’s nest in the middle of nowhere [381] with a pompous duke who did not want to dirty his hands with combat. This was a city, the largest many of us had ever seen. We had to take this place! It was protected by rings of walls, each manned with archers and artillery. Its reserve of knights was twice our number, many of them emboldened by bloody victories in the Crusade. The closer we got, the higher the walls loomed over us. I knew the same reality drummed through every souclass="underline" Many of us would die here.