1356: A Novel by Cornwell Bernard

Author:Cornwell, Bernard [Cornwell, Bernard]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-01-07T16:00:00+00:00

Thomas knelt at the wood’s edge. “What did he say?” he asked for the tenth time.

“To go back at first light,” Keane said.

And between now, the night’s heart, and first light, what would happen to Genevieve? This was the question that tortured Thomas, and to which imagination provided a foul answer, and for which intelligence offered no solution. He could not rescue her. He could not cross a moat, climb a wall, and fight his way inside. For that he would need an army and time. “You should get some sleep,” he said to his men, and that was true, but the archers had chosen to keep their vigil with Thomas. None wanted to sleep. “How many men inside?” Thomas wondered aloud.

“The bastard had about a hundred men when we fought at Villon,” Sam offered.

“They can’t all be inside,” Thomas said, though that was hope speaking.

“It’s a big enough place,” Keane said.

“And we have thirty-four archers here,” Thomas said.

“And we have men-at-arms,” Karyl added.

“He had about forty crossbows,” Sam said, “maybe more?”

“He didn’t say he’d exchange her?” Thomas asked, for the tenth time.

“He just said to come back,” Keane said. “I’d have asked the fellow a few questions if I could, but they dropped a hint with a crossbow that Father Levonne and I weren’t exactly welcome.”

If Genevieve was hurt, Thomas thought, he would forget la Malice, he would forget the Prince of Wales, he would forget everything until he had tied the Count of Labrouillade down onto a table and cut him as the count had cut Villon. And that was a futile hope in this moonlit night. There were times when all a man could do was wait and fortify himself with dreams against despair.

“At dawn,” Thomas said, “I want every archer, every man-at-arms. We’ll show ourselves. We’ll be ready to fight, but stay just out of crossbow range.” It was a gesture, he knew, nothing more, but right now he was reduced to gestures.

“We’re ready now,” Sam said. Like all the archers, he had his bow, though in the expectation of dew he had taken the cord from the stave and stored it in his hat. “And it’ll be an early dawn.”

“You should sleep,” Thomas said, “all of you who aren’t sentries, you should sleep.”

“Aye, we should,” Sam said.

And no one moved.

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