I looked out of the dairy window and saw my squire in the courtyard. He was training with sword and shield against Alfred, a veteran man-at-arms in his early thirties, and I realized, as I watched the strokes, counter-strokes, parries and blocks, that Thomas was not half bad. He rode well, I mused, and God knew he was a reliable, brave and resourceful fellow. He had not mastered the lance yet, which was my fault, for I had been neglectful of his training in recent months, but as a swordsman he was competent, even skilful. I struggled to remember how old he was at that time: he must be nearly fifteen, I thought, and I’d been of a similar age when I fought my first battle.
‘I shall send Thomas in my stead, and two good men-at-arms under Alfred,’ I announced. ‘Thomas can report to Robin when he gets to France and my lord of Locksley will doubtless take him under his wing.’
‘What a very wise decision, my lord,’ said Goody, a suspicion of a smile twitching her lips as she pounded the pole of the butter churn up and down, up and down.
Although he did his best to hide it, Thomas was utterly delighted by the prospect of going off to France in my stead. When I gave him his instructions, and told him to report to Robin when he got to the army, he said: ‘As you wish, Sir Alan,’ and bowed formally. But he could not help a sparkle of joy lighting his eye and a grin stretching his mouth. I tried to dig up some special words of wisdom for him to take with him and, as usual, came up woefully short.
‘Keep Alfred close during the journey to France, and obey Lord Locksley in all things when you get there. Do not try to be a hero on the battlefield – nobody expects that of you; obey orders, and keep your head down and your shield up. And, uh, stay away from the local women, they may harbour, uh, diseases. If you must indulge yourself, ask Little John’s advice on which are the cleanest whores.’
After that last gem, we both stood looking at each other in embarrassed silence. Until Thomas said, quietly and sincerely: ‘Thank you, sir, for this opportunity. I will try to be a credit to the proud name of Westbury.’
And I suddenly felt a great lump in my throat.
We spent the afternoon outfitting Thomas and his men with hauberks, aketons, helmets, new swords and shields – and I gave them the pick of the best equipment in the armoury; also warm cloaks and cooking kit, horse gear, spare clothing and bedding. The next morning Goody provided each man with a cheese, a bag of onions, and several loaves of twice-baked bread that would keep for weeks. I gave Thomas a small purse of silver and a few final words: ‘Tell Robin that I shall come as soon as I have dealt with Nur and her women and made Westbury safe; and, Thomas …’
I paused and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Be careful, Thomas, and for God’s sake don’t get yourself killed!’
My squire saluted, smiled, climbed on to his horse and, followed closely by his three men-at-arms, he clattered out of the big gate and embarked on the long road to war.
I was sad to see him go, but at the same time I could not deny a surge of pride. He was not my son, it was true, but Goody and I were both very fond of him; he was a fine young man – a man, I realized, no longer a boy.
I had cause to regret the loss of four of my fighting men not two days later.
It was the night of the full moon, and our rest was interrupted by the sound of drums. I had been sleeping, unusually for me at that time, and awoke with a sense of irritation and grievance rather than fear. I knew that it was Nur before I stepped out of the hall with Fidelity in my hand and crossed the courtyard to climb up to the walkway that ran around the inside of the palisade. I saw Goody emerging from her guest house, tousled, rubbing her eyes and wrapped in a woollen shawl, as I hurried up the steps to the cloaked figure of the man-at-arms, a young fellow called Kit, waiting at the top.
Kit pointed, wordlessly and unnecessarily, at a pin-prick of light about three hundred yards away to the west, a fire. It burned in front of a copse that stood beside the stream that ran through my lands. At that very stream, a mere quarter of a mile from the hall, Goody and the village women did their weekly washing, beating the cloth against the rocks and spreading it to dry on the sheep-cropped grass. In choosing that place for their midnight gathering, I felt that Nur was deliberately desecrating my lands, befouling them with her presence. I felt as insulted and perturbed as I might if she had emptied her bowels in the well in my courtyard. The drums beat a simple rhythm – and I realized that it was the rhythm of the curse: one-two, one-two, one-two-three, one-two – or one year, one day, after you wed, you pay.
I called loudly for Thomas, then realized stupidly that he was no longer with me, and sent Kit down the steps to rouse the manor; I wanted all the men arrayed for battle, armed and mounted as soon as possible. This was a gross provocation, an insult – one I could not ignore.