‘Steady!’ howled Aurifabro to his soldiers. He raised his sword, although it was heavy and not designed to be waved with one hand, so it wobbled precariously. ‘Cha–’
‘Wait!’ came a high, wavering voice from behind Spalling. It was feeble, but still piercing enough to make the goldsmith falter. ‘Stop! In the name of all that is holy.’
For a moment, nothing happened, but then Spalling’s rabble parted to allow some people through. It was the bedesfolk – men and women – clad in their ceremonial finery. They might have been an imposing sight if they had not been panting, hobbling and wheezing after what had obviously been a rapid dash.
Some carried a litter bearing Kirwell, who was scowling his displeasure at being hauled from his comfortable bed and spirited around the countryside. Behind them, Botilbrig and Inges staggered under the weight of a flagstone, while Hagar and Marion held the vases containing St Thomas Becket’s blood. Appletre was with them, and Bartholomew could only suppose that he had met them on the road and had urged them to hurry.
‘Retreat,’ ordered Aurifabro angrily, obviously disconcerted by the fact that he would have to plough through a lot of old folk in order to reach his quarry. ‘Or you will die, too.’
‘We have brought our relics,’ announced Hagar, although no one needed to be told. ‘We command you, in the name of St Thomas Becket and St Leonard, to go home. All of you.’
‘You cannot kill defenceless elders, Aurifabro,’ said Michael quickly. ‘Neither the King nor the Bishop will condone that. You must stand down.’
Aurifabro stared at him, eyes glittering. ‘I will take my chances.’
‘Then if you will not listen to us,’ said Appletre, ‘listen to him.’
From the bedesfolk’s midst, someone was ushered forward. His substantial girth and haughty bearing showed he was a man of some importance, although his silver hair was unkempt and his robes were stained with mud. He was scowling furiously, and jerked away from the propelling hands as if their touch was an outrage.
‘It is Abbot Robert,’ declared Hagar in a ringing voice. ‘Come home at last.’
Chapter 13
For a moment, no one spoke, then Spalling’s followers surged towards the angry Abbot, begging him to order Aurifabro and his mercenaries home. Robert regarded them with an arrogant disdain, which suggested that there was a good reason why he had been unpopular.
‘I was sure he was dead,’ murmured Michael, staring in astonishment as Robert began to dispense blessings, which he did sparingly, as though he did not want to expend what was a limited supply. ‘I wonder where he has been.’
‘Nowhere pleasant,’ whispered Cynric. ‘Look at the state of him.’
‘God be praised!’ bawled Spalling, silencing the hubbub and reclaiming the attention at the same time. ‘Aurifabro has released the poor Abbot at last. It is a sign that God is on our side, so let us trounce his mercenaries and–’
‘I never had him,’ objected Aurifabro indignantly. ‘And anyone who says otherwise is a liar.’
‘I was seized by brigands,’ declared Robert in a strong, steady voice. ‘I do not know yet on whose orders. But I escaped. However, I did not expect to find my domain in a state of war. What is going on? And where are my defensores? Surely they should be on hand to prevent this sort of thing?’
‘They slunk away when they saw me,’ said Aurifabro, not bothering to hide his contempt for the abbey’s unreliable troops. ‘As did Nonton.’
‘We found Robert walking down the road,’ explained Hagar, obviously proud to be part of the company who had arrived to save the day. ‘He wanted to return to his abbey, to let his monks know he is safe, but we persuaded him to turn around and deal with this situation first.’
‘It is a pity we did not meet him sooner,’ muttered Inges, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. ‘Because then we would not have had to tote these heavy relics and Kirwell all the way out here.’
‘A pity indeed,’ came Kirwell’s querulous voice. ‘Will I never be left in peace?’
Appletre stepped forward, beaming. ‘We are delighted to see you safe, Father Abbot. But where have you been?’
‘Imprisoned in a hut somewhere to the north of here,’ replied Robert frostily. He gave a fastidious shudder. ‘But I refuse to discuss it until I have bathed and changed.’
‘You had better call a truce first,’ said Langelee, nodding towards the onlookers.
‘Why should I?’ demanded Robert, eyeing the goldsmith coldly. ‘I have no love for Aurifabro, and I do not care what happens to him today.’
‘What will happen is that he will win a victory which will make you impossible to govern in the future,’ hissed Langelee. ‘So unless you want trouble with him for the rest of your reign, you would be wise to do as we say. After all, we are the Bishop’s Commissioners.’
Robert regarded him icily, and it seemed he would refuse, but then he turned to Aurifabro and spoke, albeit with obvious reluctance.
‘I apologise if the abbey or the town has caused you offence in my absence, but there will be no fighting today. We shall all go home and thank our respective gods that we live to see another day.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ muttered Kirwell.
‘I agree,’ said Spalling, determined to keep his status as leader. He turned to his people. ‘We could have bested these louts if the defensores had stood firm, but their cowardly retreat has weakened us, so we shall do as the Abbot suggests for now.’
‘But you claimed we could take Aurifabro on our own,’ said a baker accusingly. ‘You told us we were so strong that the mercenaries would run when they saw us coming.’
‘And what about the money that you promised would be ours?’ called someone else. ‘Our rightful part of Aurifabro’s wealth?’
The goldsmith released a sharp bark of laughter. ‘I am disinclined to share it with you – you are not poor, just greedy. And I shall accept Robert’s apology on one condition: that he buys my paten. If not, we shall do battle here and now, because I am tired of Spalling and his ridiculous lies. I am not intimidated by him, his army or these “holy” relics.’
‘Maybe not, but your mercenaries are,’ said Michael quietly, nodding to where several of them were eyeing the blood, stones and Kirwell uncomfortably. ‘And the abbey will buy the paten. Do not argue, Abbot Robert. I speak with the Bishop’s voice. The abbey will honour the arrangement it made with Aurifabro.’
‘Very well,’ said Robert, although the furious flash in his eyes suggested he resented the interference, and that the matter was far from over.
‘Good,’ said Langelee in relief. He glared at Spalling. ‘I told you this was a bad idea, and you should have listened. Half these people might have been dead by now if the ancients had not intervened.’
‘Here, who are you calling ancient?’ demanded Botilbrig. He jabbed a gnarled finger at Kirwell. ‘He is ancient. We are in our prime.’
There was no more to be said, so the townsfolk began to shuffle back towards the town, rather less defiantly than when they had left it. Inges and Hagar, arm in arm in a rare display of unity, led the way. Robert was next, slapping angrily at the grateful hands that reached out to touch him, but Spalling was nowhere to be seen.
‘Slithered away with his tail between his legs,’ said Langelee in disgust. ‘He should be here, assuring his troops that there is no shame in refusing an encounter they could not have won. The man is no kind of leader.’