Not surprisingly, this invitation was met with scant enthusiasm.
‘Bold defensores,’ said Spalling, addressing the abbey’s soldiers. ‘Will you join us? We shall loot Aurifabro’s house before we burn it, and it would be a pity for you to miss out.’
The greedy glances exchanged between the defensores suggested they thought so, too.
‘No,’ said Michael firmly. ‘Aurifabro will fight to protect his property, and you will die. Moreover, if the scent of rebellion carries, it may ignite–’
‘I hope so,’ declared Spalling hotly. ‘It is what we have been working towards.’
‘Bloodshed and mayhem?’ demanded Michael. ‘Is that what you itch to see?’
‘If that is what it takes to set the poor free, then yes.’ Spalling raised his voice. ‘The brave men of Peterborough are not afraid of Aurifabro’s louts. Are they?’
There was a resounding denial, louder and rougher than the previous chorus, because the defensores had joined in.
‘Wait!’ cried Appletre. He swallowed hard when everyone looked at him. ‘I heard you singing when you arrived, but you were out of tune. Stay with me, and I shall teach you how to–’
‘Are you ready?’ roared Spalling, shooting Appletre a disdainful look. ‘Are you willing to take what is rightfully yours, my good people?’
A wild cheer said they were. Spalling shouldered the scholars out of the way and resumed his march, while the defensores tossed their tools aside and followed. Appletre scurried after them, pleading with them to see reason.
‘Why did you not order your men to stay here, Nonton?’ demanded Michael angrily, seeing the cellarer watching silently from the side of the road. ‘You must see that the abbey cannot be involved in this.’
‘Involved in what?’ asked Nonton. ‘Ridding Peterborough of a villain who has made nasty accusations against our foundation – a heretic who keeps a witch in his house? The Bishop will applaud our decision to stand with the townsfolk.’
‘He will not,’ snapped Michael. ‘Especially if this rebellion spreads to other parts of his diocese. Can you not see the damage it may do?’
Nonton snorted his disdain, and turned to follow his men: the defensores were not the only ones whose imagination had been fired by talk of plunder. Helplessly, the scholars watched him leave. Then Appletre came racing back.
‘Spalling threatened to punch me when I tried to reason with him,’ he said, close to tears in his agitation. ‘But he will lead everyone to destruction! What are we going to do? We must stop them before blood is spilled.’
‘How?’ asked Michael, exasperated. ‘We have no army.’
‘I shall fetch Prior Yvo,’ said Appletre with sudden determination. ‘Nonton will have no choice but to obey him, and once the defensores turn back, the others may follow.’
He was trotting back towards the town, short legs pumping furiously, before Michael could tell him he was wasting his time.
‘This is all wrong,’ came a quiet voice from behind them. It was Cynric, staring unhappily at the receding torches. ‘The redistribution of property is a noble goal, but Spalling is talking about looting, which is not the same thing at all. And what about the witch?’
‘What about her?’ asked Michael warily.
‘She will not be pleased if she is killed,’ explained Cynric worriedly. ‘She might curse us. It will be a–’
He was interrupted by a sudden scream from the road ahead. It was followed by more cries, some of pain, others of fear.
‘It has started,’ said Langelee grimly. ‘I guessed correctly – Aurifabro has pre-empted Spalling and has launched a counterattack.’
They raced towards the commotion. Dawn was approaching rapidly now, and it was light enough to see that the road was blocked by a wall of mounted, well-armed men, some carrying bows. Langelee’s bleak prediction was right.
Spalling’s people milled in terror as arrows rained down among them. They outnumbered the mercenaries ten to one, but hoes and pitchforks were no match for real weapons, and they lacked the skill to know how to press their advantage. Nonton and his defensores, who might have evened the odds, were suddenly nowhere to be seen.
From the rear, Spalling screamed at his troops to advance, but bewildered and frightened, they simply cowered. Then Aurifabro appeared, sitting astride a massive warhorse. He wore a helmet, armour and carried a sword, but although Bartholomew could tell he was uncomfortably unfamiliar with them, he appeared distressingly invincible to Spalling’s peasants. They issued a collective moan of despair.
‘I have had enough of your nonsense, Spalling,’ the goldsmith announced in a ringing voice. The townsfolk went silent. ‘You want a fight? Then let us have one and resolve our differences once and for all.’
‘Very well,’ Spalling yelled back, careful to keep plenty of people between him and the mercenaries’ bows. ‘And when you are defeated, all your riches will belong to me … I mean to the poor. God stands with us today, because not only do you crush peasants with your greed, but you murdered Abbot Robert and poor Pyk.’
‘You murdered them,’ Aurifabro snarled. ‘Just as you have been attacking other travellers on our roads. It makes sense to me now: you have not been using your own money to provoke unrest – these robberies have funded it.’
‘Rubbish!’ bellowed Spalling, outraged. ‘How dare you accuse us of being criminals. We are doing God’s work, whereas you are an evil pagan who lives with a witch.’
‘There is nothing evil about my religion,’ spat Aurifabro. ‘Yours is the one that pays homage to executed criminals.’ He turned to someone who was standing behind him. ‘Bless us, Mother Udela, and let us see whose deity is stronger.’
‘Lord!’ gulped Cynric at Bartholomew’s side. ‘I cannot fight a witch!’
‘Stop this madness,’ ordered Michael, striding forward and interposing himself between the two sides. ‘It is not–’
‘Prepare to advance!’ shouted Aurifabro to his men. ‘On my mark.’
There were a number of metallic clangs as the townsfolk in the vanguard dropped their tools and turned to flee. They collided with those who clustered behind them, causing chaos and panic. Unable to escape, some fell to their knees and began to beg for mercy. The savage expressions on the mercenaries’ faces suggested it was unlikely to be given.
Appalled, Bartholomew shouldered his way through Spalling’s rabble to stand at Michael’s side. Langelee followed, and so did Cynric. Bartholomew knew their frail barrier of four men was unlikely to survive Aurifabro’s charge, although Langelee’s white-fisted grip on his sword suggested that he would not go down easily.
‘We are the Bishop’s Commissioners,’ declared Michael, drawing himself up to his full, considerable height and using the voice that had quelled riots in Cambridge. ‘And we order you all, in Gynewell’s name, to turn around and go home. There will be no battle today.’
Aurifabro laughed, a shrill, mocking sound that made Cynric clutch anxiously at one of his amulets. At that moment, a rogue gust of wind blew and the grass at the side of the road gave a sharp hiss, as if in anger. More of Spalling’s people downed weapons and ran.
‘Did you hear that?’ cried Spalling. He sounded desperate. ‘It is the Devil talking to Aurifabro. Fight, my valiant people. Prove that Peterborough men do not bow to Satan.’
Far from inspiring his troops, Spalling’s words served to eliminate any residual resolve they might have possessed, as taking on the Prince of Darkness was not what they had had in mind when they set out to put the world to rights. More slunk away or fell to their knees.