Chapter 101
THAT DAY, I CALLED THE TOWN TOGETHER in the church. I stood at the front, in the same bloody rags I had worn in the fight, holding the lance. I took a sweeping look around the room. The place was full — the miller, Odo, even people who never went to church.
“Where have you been, Hugh?” Georges stood up in his place. “We’ve all been celebrating.”
“Yes, that lance must be holy.” Odo stood too. “Since it found you, it’s been hard to even buy you an ale.”
Everyone laughed.
“Don’t blame Hugh,” Father Leo put in. “If such a pretty maiden were visiting me, I wouldn’t waste my time drinking with you clowns, either.”
“If you had such a pretty maiden, we’d all be in church a lot more often,” Odo roared.
Everyone laughed again. Even Emilie smiled from the back.
“I do owe you an ale,” I said, acknowledging Odo. “I owe you all an ale, for your courage. We did a great thing the other day. But the ale must wait. We are not done.”
“Damn right we are not done.” Marie, the miller’s wife, stood up. “I have an inn to run, and when that fat bailiff comes back, I intend to stuff him so full of squirrel droppings he pukes himself dead.”
“And I’ll be happy to serve it to him.” I smiled at Marie. “But the inn . . . it has to wait too.”
Suddenly everyone noticed the look on my face. The laughter settled into a hush.
“I pray I have not drawn you in against your will, but we cannot stay here. Life will not return to what it was. Baldwin has made a promise to all of you, and he will keep it. We have to march.”
“March?” Voices rang out, skeptical. “To where?”
“To Treille,” I answered. “Baldwin will come at us with everything now. We must march against him.”
The church went silent. Then, one by one, people shouted up to the front.
“But this is our home,” Jean Dueux, a farmer, protested. “All we want is for things to go back to the way they were.”
“Things will never go back, Jean,” I said. “When Baldwin hears of this, he’ll send his henchmen to ride down upon us with the full fury of his will. He will raze the town.”
“You talk of marching against Treille,” Jocelyn, the tanner’s wife, declared. “Do you see any war horses or artillery? We’re just farmers and widows. ”
“No, you are not.” I shook my head. “You’re fighters now. And in every town there are others, who have farmed and toiled their entire lives only to hand over what their liege demands.”
“And they will join us?” Jocelyn sniffed. “These others? Or will they just cheer and cross themselves as we march by?”
“Hugh is right,” Odo’s deep voice cut in. “Baldwin will make us pay, just like the bailiff promised. It’s too late to back down.”
“He will surely take my lands anyway,” Jean moaned, “after what’s happened here.”
“H-Hugh has the lance,” Alphonse said. “It is a greater weapon than all the arrows in Treille.”
Shouts and murmurs rose around the church. Some stood in agreement, but most were afraid. I could see it in their faces. Am I a soldier? Am I fit to fight? If we march, will others follow?
Suddenly a pounding was heard from the church steps outside. People froze. Everyone in town was already inside.
Then three men stepped into the doorway. They were dressed in working hides and tunics. They knelt, made the sign of the cross. “We seek Hugh,” a large one said, taking off his hat. “The one with the lance.”
“I am Hugh,” I said from the front.
The man grinned at his companions, seemingly from relief. “I am glad you truly exist. You sounded more like a fable. I’m Alois, a woodsman. We’ve come from Morrisaey.”
Morrisaey? Morrisaey was halfway between here and Treille.
“We heard about your fight,” one of the others said. “Farmers, bondsmen fighting like devils. Against our liege. We wanted to know if it was true.”
“Look around. These are your devils,” I said. Then I showed him the lance. “Here is their pitchfork.”
Alois’s eyes grew wide. “The holy lance. Word is that it changes things for us. That it’s a sign. We couldn’t just sit by and twiddle our thumbs if there was going to be a fight.”
My chest expanded. “This is good news, Alois. How many men do you have?” I was hoping it was more than these three.
“Sixty-two,” the woodsman shouted proudly. “Sixty-six if the fucking Freemasons don’t back down.”
I looked around the church. “Go back and tell your townsmen you are now one hundred and ten. A hundred fourteen if the fucking Masons take part.”
The man from Morrisaey grinned at his companions again. Then he turned back, “Too late for that . . .” he said.
He swung the church doors open wide. I saw a crowd in the square. Everyone rushed out of their seats to look and saw woodsmen carrying axes, farmers with hoes and spades, ragged-looking peasants carting hens and geese. Alois smiled. “Already brought ’em.”
Chapter 102
THAT WAS HOW IT BEGAN, that first day.
Barely a hundred of us, farmers, tailors, and shepherds, makeshift weapons in hand, food and other supplies carted behind. We started on the road toward Treille.
But by the next town we were two hundred, people kneeling before the lance, grabbing their belongings. By Sur le Gavre we were three hundred, and at the crossroad between north and south, a hundred more were waiting, clubs and hoes and wooden shields in hand.
I marched at the front, carrying the lance. I could not believe these folk had come to follow me, in a fool’s suit, yet at every corner, more joined us.
They knelt — husbands, wives — kissing the lance, and Christ’s blood, singing praise and vowing the nobles would crush them no longer. Banners were hoisted, with the purple and white lions of Treille upside down or with the crest slashed and tattered.
It was like the hermit’s march all over again. The hope and promise that had captured my soul more than two years before. Simple men — farmers and serfs and bondmen — banded together to raise up their lives. Believing that the time had finally come. That if we stood up with the might of numbers, no matter how long the odds, we could be free.
“Are you tired of being shat on?” went the refrain as we wound past a watching goatherd.
“Aye,” came the reply. “I’ve been tired my whole life.”
“And what would you risk,” another would shout, “to gain your freedom?”
“All I have. Which is nothing. Why do you think I’m here?”
The ranks swelled with people from all corners of the forest. “Follow the lance” was the cri de coeur. “The lance held by the fool.”
By St. Felix, we had grown to seven hundred strong. By Montres, we had lost count. We could no longer feed them; we had no more stocks or provisions. I knew we could not stand a drawn-out siege, yet people continually joined.
Near Moulin Vieux, Odo edged his way up to the front. Behind us was a column of peasants at least a thousand strong.
The big smith grinned, walking alongside me. “You have a plan, don’t you, Hugh?” He eyed me warily.
“Of course I have a plan. You think I brought all these folks along for a picnic in the woods?”
“Good.” He sighed. He dropped back into the ranks. “Never doubted . . .”
“Of course Hugh has a plan,” I heard him whisper to Georges the miller, a row behind.
From Moulin Vieux, Treille was two days’ march away. That night, I curled up at our fire with Emilie. Behind us, the glow from hundreds of others lit up the night. I stroked her hair. She nestled close. “I told you this was no accident,” she said. “I told you if you stood up to lead they would follow.”
“You did.” I held her. “Yet the real miracle is not them, but you. That you have followed.”
“For me there was no choice.” She rolled her tongue and toyed with my jester’s tassel. “
I always had a thing for a man in uniform.”
I laughed. “But now comes the real miracle. Treille is two days away. I have a thousand men and only fifty swords.”
“I overheard you had a plan,” Emilie said.
“The outline of one,” I admitted. “Father Leo says we should draw up our demands: that taxes must be reduced immediately, that all fiefs should apply toward purchase of a parcel of land, that any nobles who take part in raids must be brought before the court.”
“Look at the numbers.” Emilie nodded optimistically. “Baldwin will have to sue for peace. He cannot fight us all.”
“He won’t fight us.” I shook my head. “At least not right away. He knows we cannot provision such an army for a long siege. He will wait us out. He’ll stall, and let the songs subside, until the food runs out and people lose patience and start to go home. Then he will open the gates and send out his dogs to slaughter us. He will chase us down and burn our towns so thoroughly even the scavengers will not think anything was once alive there. I’ve seen Baldwin’s diplomacy. He will never submit.”
“You have known this from the start, haven’t you? That the duke would never comply. It was what was troubling you back at Veille du Père.”
I nodded.
“So if you know this, Hugh, what then? All these people, they’ve given you their hope, their very lives.”
“What it means . . .” I tucked my head onto her lap, begging to drift off to sleep. “. . . is that we must take him.”
Emilie raised herself up. “Take him? In order to take Baldwin you must seize his castle too.”
“Yes.” I yawned. “That is usually the case.”
Emilie shook me. “Do not jest with me, Hugh. This requires weapons and provisions. For this you have a plan?”
“The outline of one, I told you. It lacks but one thing.” I curled myself into her warmth. “Fortunately, it is the thing you are best at.”
“And what is that, Hugh?” She pounded my shoulder.
“A pretext, my lady.” I glanced up and winked.
Chapter 103
DANIEL GUI’S SWORD CLATTERED AS HE RUSHED into the duke’s sitting room. He was Baldwin’s new chatelain, having taken over for Norcross.
“You can’t go in there,” said a page, flashing a cynical wink. “The duke’s in council.”
“The duke will find this news more urgent than any meeting,” Daniel said, and pushed by the page.
His lord was upright against a wall, his leggings down, fucking a young chambermaid.
Daniel cleared his throat. “Liege.”
The maid gasped and fixed her skirt, running out through another door.
“I am sorry to interrupt,” the chatelain said, “but I have news you must hear.”
Baldwin pulled up his leggings as if it were the most natural thing in the world and tied his tunic. “I hope this news is crucial, chatelain, for it has taken me months to back that little sow up against a wall.” He wiped his hand across his mouth.
Baldwin disgusted the young chatelain. Daniel looked at his position as a chance to serve his native town, not plunder and slaughter defenseless subjects. He told himself that being in the duke’s pen was not tantamount to being a pig.
“It is news of the redhead you seek. The jester who escaped after killing Norcross.”
“Hugh. That little canker.” Baldwin sprang alive. “What of him? Speak!”
“He has turned up. In his own town, after all. It seems he has led an uprising there against a raiding party from Borée.”
“Uprising? What do you mean, uprising? There’s nothing but field mice and manure out there.”
“Apparently these field mice defended their nest quite well. Our messengers report all of Stephen’s men were killed.”
Baldwin shot up out of his seat. “You tell me this little maw worm has led a bunch of farmers and hayseeds against Stephen’s crack troops?”
“It is so, but it is only the tip of it, my lord.” A tremor of enjoyment rippled through Daniel, as he knew the next piece of news would send Baldwin into a rage. “The thing Stephen’s men sought . . . this will amuse you . . . was apparently a relic stolen from the Crusade. Some kind of lance . . .”
“The holy lance?” The duke pursed his lips skeptically. “The holy lance belongs to a jester? You must be mistaken, chatelain. The holy lance, if it even exists, exceeds in value everything I own. It is a child’s fancy to conceive it could be in the hands of that kitchen-rot.”
“Then apparently it is a tale children from all over seem to believe. And grown men too. For they flock to him as to a crusade. The whole region is up in revolt.”
“Revolt!” Baldwin’s eyes were ablaze. “There is no revolt in my domain. Rouse the men, chatelain. We’ll ride tonight and nail the little bastard to a cross if he’s so holy.”
“I do not think that is wise, sir.”
“Not wise . . . ?” Baldwin stepped up, eyes twitching. “And why is it not wise?”
“Because,” said the chatelain, “this little maw-worm, as you call him, commands an army of these worms over a thousand strong.”
The color drained from Baldwin’s face. “A thousand . . . That cannot be. That is all the towns in the forest. That is three times the size of our own garrison.”
“Perhaps more,” Daniel said. “This news is days old. Every peasant in the duchy seems to have joined him.”
Baldwin sat down on a bench. His face was taut, the color of spoiled fruit. “Ready the men anyway, chatelain. I will call to my cousin in Nîmes for additional troops. Together we will cut them down in the forest like saplings.”
“Then I think you must hurry,” Daniel said. “For these cowherds are in Moulin Vieux as we speak. It appears they are coming to you.”
Chapter 104
WE CAME TO THE EDGE OF THE FOREST only a half day’s march from Treille.
There it was, in the distance — many towered, seemingly hung in the clouds, the sun glinting off its ochre walls. The good mood of our march dimmed, replaced by a troubled silence. There would be no deceiving them now. All of Treille — including Baldwin — now knew we were here.
I called the people closest to me together: Odo, Georges, Emilie, Father Leo, and Alois, the woodsman from Morrisaey. I had constructed a plan, but it depended on help from within. “I have to go into Treille,” I told them.
“I do too,” Odo chortled. “And Georges. And Alois here. I want to open Baldwin’s eyes. With an eye wrench.”
“No.” I smiled at his joke. “I meant alone. In Treille, I have friends who will help.”
“Just how do you intend to get in there?” Georges asked. “Sneak past the guards while Odo here juggles balls? They’ll never let you through the gates.”
“Listen, if we are to take this castle, it can only be through trickery, not force of arms. Baldwin has few friends, even within his own walls. I have to gauge the mood inside.”
“All right, but it’s a huge risk,” Alois agreed. “So what’s your big plan?”
I pointed toward the town. “Father, your eyes are best. Are those riders coming from there now?”
Everyone spun their heads to see.
“Where?” Father Leo said. “I don’t see anyone.”
When the priest turned back, I handed him his prayer beads, which I had lifted out of his robe. His eyes widened with surprise. Emilie smiled. Everyone started to laugh.
“I’m a jester. You don’t think I would go in there without a trick or two?”
Odo grunted skeptically. “Your tricks may be artful enough here, but if you drop the ball in there, the rest of us are left plowing the north field with our God-given hoe, if you catch my drift. Send someone else.”
“I don’t see another way.” I shrugged. “Except to surround the castle with our shovels and picks and storm Baldwin’s army in one massive charge.”
Odo and Georges swallowed uneasily at each other, considering that unseemly prospect.
The smi
th glanced around, weighing my suggestion, then slapped me on the back. “So, Hugh, when do you go?”
Chapter 105
THAT NIGHT, I LAY WITH EMILIE BY A FIRE. I felt her nervousness as I wrapped my arm tightly around her.
“Don’t be worried for me,” I said.
“How could I not? You are walking into a lion’s den. . . . And there are other things on my mind.”
“What things? The stars are out. We are here. I can feel the beating of your heart. . . .”
“Please, do not mock me, Hugh.” Emilie turned in my arms. “I cannot help myself. My mind has been returning to Borée.”
“Borée . . . ?”
“Anne.” Emilie rose up on an elbow. “Stephen’s wrath will be great now that his men have failed. He’ll want this lance more than ever. I am worried for her.”
“I don’t share your concern.”
“I know you have no love for her.” She stroked my face. “But Anne is a prisoner too, just as surely as if she were behind bars. You must understand that. I am pledged to her, Hugh. It is a bond I simply cannot run away from and break.”
“You are pledged to me now.” I tickled Emilie’s ribs. “Can you break that one?”
“No.” She sighed and kissed me on the forehead. “That I will never break.”
I leaned down to her and kissed her. She opened her mouth to me, but showed a little hesitation. A thousand other people were about. Her breasts came to life at my touch, hard and willing through her robe. I felt my cock spring alive too.
“Come with me,” I said.
“Come where? We are in the forest.”
“A country boy knows.” I winked a bit mischievously. “I have a spot. Just for us.”
I pulled her up, and in the dark of night, with the glimmer of campfires and the forms of sleeping men all around, we sneaked off.
“How can you be so impressively aroused,” Emilie asked, pretending to pull away from me, “with what lies before you in the morning?”
In a small clearing, we threw ourselves into each other’s arms, cushioned by a small bed of leaves. Without speaking, we lifted our clothing and felt our bodies warm to the touch of each other — still new, a gift I could not believe was mine.