‘Drive!’
Ellie jammed her foot on the accelerator, The garage doors weren’t quite open — she clipped them as she went out, spun on the gravel and careered down the driveway. The rear-view mirror lit up as floodlights came on outside the chateau. She glimpsed movement, figures running to the cars. To her horror, the cars started moving.
‘I thought you broke them.’
‘I smashed the headlights. They can’t chase us far if they can’t see where they’re going.’
The gates loomed ahead, and the road beyond.
‘Which way?’
‘Whichever.’
She reached the road and turned right. She accelerated so fast she didn’t have time to look back.
Destrier skidded the Mercedes through the gates and stopped. He wouldn’t get far on those country roads without headlights. He leaped out of the car and ran round to the boot. From a canvas bag he took a long rifle with a telescopic sight. He steadied it on the roof of the car and aimed. The speeding Land Rover zoomed into focus, tail lights heading towards a stand of trees. The high-beams threw up a curtain of light in front of it so he had a clear silhouette of the driver.
His finger tightened on the trigger.
XLVIII
At least there’s no body.
Hugh says, ‘They’re keeping it somewhere safe. They’ll take the King and use it there.’ He doesn’t say what it is.
The sentries get called in and questioned. Everyone’s seen something, even if he’s just made it up to please the Queen. Precious hours go by while we sift the facts from the lies. Scouts ride out in every direction. All they know is that they’re looking for a one-eyed mercer — the Queen won’t let anyone know the truth.
‘You can imagine the value the Empress will get out of his plight if it comes out he was kidnapped by a merchant.’
What she means is that half of England no longer believes Stephen’s the legitimate king. If word of this gets about, he’ll be finished. If we get him back alive.
Servants bring logs: the fire burns all night. The Queen and Bishop Henry sit up in the Queen’s apartment, while Hugh and William stride around the manor fetching men, provisions and arms. I loiter by a tapestry and don’t get noticed. A company of knights is assembled in the courtyard, but there’s light in the sky and they still don’t know which way to go.
Just before dawn, one of the scouts gallops into the courtyard. He’s found a herdsman on the Monmouth Road who saw six men riding quickly towards Wales. Three rode abreast, one wrapped in a hooded cloak held between the others. He remembers the man at their head, a giant of a man in black armour, mounted on an enormous black charger.
It’s enough for William. We clamber into our saddles and ride out.
We can’t go in force — we’d move too slowly, and alert the King’s enemies that something was wrong. William’s chosen thirty knights, together with Beric, Anselm, Hugh and me. I think about this weapon Malegant has, that he intends to use on the King, and wonder if we’re enough.
The roads are almost empty. Whoever’s abroad, they hear our band of knights, swords flashing, armour jangling, and assume the worst. Everywhere we go, the hedgerows shiver and the trees whisper with the echo of just-vanished voices.
Early afternoon brings us to a river, so wide even an arrow couldn’t get across. We’re near the sea: curlews pick at worms in the sand, and rank smells drift up off strands of weed. It looks so foreign that when Hugh says the name I can hardly credit it. The Severn. The last time I saw this, I was a ten-year-old orphan on my way to Hautfort. And I was in a boat.
‘They can’t have crossed here.’ William circles his horse on the riverbank. There’s no way a horse could swim it. There are mooring posts for a ferry, but the only boat is a waterlogged hulk, almost submerged.
Anselm points to the hull. There are holes in the bow, the axe-marks still visible. It wasn’t done today: the splintered wood has rotted black.
‘Someone doesn’t want us crossing.’
We ride along the shore, until we come to a large boulder blocking our path. We splash into the shallows, and as we come around it we see a boat with two men aboard floating a little way off. We pause, waiting for the current to bring them towards us, but they stay perfectly still. They’re anchored fast. At the front of the boat a man baits a fishing line with a minnow and casts it into the river.
Hugh rides out as far as he dares and hails them. ‘Is there a ford or a bridge across this river?’
The fisherman frowns and puts down his line. Hugh’s frightened the fish.
‘Nothing.’
‘A boat?’
‘None bigger than this one.’ He eyes the knights gathered on the foreshore. ‘There’s no way to get a horse across for twenty leagues.’
‘Have you seen another group of knights come this way? Five men and a prisoner?’
‘They came through this morning.’
‘Did they cross?’
‘Not here.’He extends an arm, pointing upstream. ‘That way.’
The river shrinks as we follow it. The tide’s going out: long sandbars surface in the water. Hugh keeps glancing at the river — I can see he’s tempted. But the sandbars have their own hazards: they push the water into narrow channels, where it flows fast and deep.
Eventually, Hugh calls William to halt. ‘We can cross here.’
William shakes his head. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘So’s delay.’
The bank on the far side is almost sheer where the river’s carved away the sand. But the channel looks narrow — I’m sure I’ve jumped wider before.
‘Let me try.’
I strip down to my tunic so the armour won’t weigh me down, draw back a little way, then touch my spurs and come springing forward at a gallop. The horse leaps. His back rises under me, lifting me in the air. I lean forward, gripping his flanks with my knees, dizzy with the speed.
With an enormous splash, we hit the water. I’ve misjudged the distance — but not the horse. He strains forward, his head tipped back. His powerful legs churn against the current. For a minute I feel I’m straddling a barreclass="underline" it’s all I can do to keep from rolling over. Then his body stiffens. He’s touched bottom. Water cascades off his flanks as he digs his way up the bank, spraying sand behind him. He reaches the top and collapses to his knees, his lungs groaning.
I’m not much better off. I scramble out of the saddle and turn back to face the others. I cough the water from my chest, then shout, ‘You see?’
Thirty-odd faces stare back at me with a mixture of admiration and disbelief. Even at that distance, I can see no one’s going to follow me.
‘Stay with the river,’ Hugh shouts. ‘Look for the place where they crossed — there must be tracks. We’ll find it from this side and join you there.’
I don’t like the plan. Night’s coming, the day’s cold and I’m sodden. I don’t know how much further my horse can go, and I don’t have any armour.
Hugh throws my spear across the river. ‘Take this. Don’t delay.’
I stand there on the sand and watch them ride off. When they’re out of sight, I unbuckle the saddle and lay it on the grass to dry. I take off the saddle blanket and mop the water from the horse’s back, flanks and legs. When he looks as if he’s regained some strength, I slip his bridle back on and lead him away.
A few hundred yards inland I find a farm track running broadly parallel with the river. I scan the fields for any sign of a farm, but there’s nothing. With a sigh, I turn north. I’ve forgotten Malegant, the King, Hugh’s treasure — all I want is a bed for the night and a warm plate of food.