It wasn’t just my own spirit which was failing, either, but those of the villagers too. I couldn’t speak much of their tongue, but I didn’t need to, for I could sense it in not only their tired eyes, which were turned down towards their feet and the path in front of them, but also in their silence as they trudged onwards for mile after mile.
‘Lord,’ ?dda called. He was crouching low to the ground, waving towards me.
I frowned. If he had lost the trail, then we would have no choice but to turn back. My first thought was one of relief, and straightaway I despised myself for it. If we arrived back home without the women, I would lose all the respect that I had worked so hard to gain. I had promised that I would find them, which was probably a foolish thing to do, but it was done nonetheless, and I was bound by that promise.
‘What is it?’ I asked, sliding from the saddle, my boots sinking into the soft earth as I landed. It had rained for a while around midday and under the trees the ground was still damp, which meant that the hoof-prints left by the enemy were easily spotted.
But that was not what he had to show me. Instead he held in his palm a whitish object about the length of his middle finger: a comb, fashioned from antler, decorated with crosses and triangles painted red and green, and at one end, so small as to be barely noticeable, a carved initial letter ‘H’.
I took it from him, turning it over and over in my fingers as I examined it, using my nail to scratch some of the dirt from its teeth.
‘You think it belongs to one of the women?’ I asked, my voice low.
‘Who else, lord?’ ?dda said. Of all the Englishmen and -women in Earnford, he was one of the few who could speak French. ‘We’re an hour from the nearest village.’
He gazed at me with his one good eye; the other he had lost in a fight some years ago, or so I had heard. Where it had been only an ugly black scar remained. Indeed he had an unsettling appearance; to add to his missing eye, he had been badly burnt across one side of his face, and the skin that was left was white and raw. Nor was he the friendliest of men: easily goaded, he was prone to fits of anger, and not the kind of man one did well to cross. But while many in Earnford were afraid of him, to me he seemed safe enough, especially compared with some of the men I had fought alongside over the years.
I nodded grimly and placed the comb in my coin-pouch for safekeeping. At least we were on the right trail. But whether the fact that it had been dropped here was a good sign or a bad one, I had no idea.
‘Come on,’ I called to the others as I returned to my horse. I vaulted up and into the saddle, feeling a fresh determination stir inside me, and gave the animal a kick to start him moving. ‘We’re close.’
From there the trail led up a steep incline, and so we were forced to dismount and lead our horses on foot. The sun was in front of us, so that whenever the breeze caused the leaves above to part, shafts of golden light would strike us straight in the eyes. The forest was thick with noise: from the chirps of birds as they chased each other between the trees to the buzz of the insects flitting about before my face. Yet despite that it felt strangely quiet, for there was no sign of anyone but us. My sword-arm itched, my fingers curling as if around the hilt of the weapon. I had never much cared for woods. When every direction looked the same, it was so easy to become lost, and between the ferns and the low branches and fallen trunks, there were too many places where an enemy might hide.
‘Keep a watch out,’ I said to Serlo and my other two knights. To young Turold, eager and willing; and to Pons, whose gaze was as sharp and cold as the steel in his scabbard. They were not the finest swordsmen I had ever known, and were far from being the most natural riders, but together they formed a formidable band of warriors. Even though I had known them but a year, I trusted them with my life. They had made their oaths to me, had sworn themselves to my service, and so we were bound together, our fates inextricably linked.
The sun dropped lower in the sky and the shadows lengthened as orange light slanted between the trunks. Back home the villagers would be wondering where we were, whether we would be returning that night. In the distance an owl could be heard, its own hunt just beginning. Inwardly I was beginning to question whether there was anything to be gained in going on, when suddenly Turold, who was in front of me, stopped still.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
He didn’t meet my eyes but fixed his gaze in the distance, somewhere to our right. ‘I thought I heard something.’
‘You’re imagining things again, whelp,’ said Pons. ‘It was probably just the wind.’
‘Or a deer,’ Serlo suggested.
‘It wasn’t the wind—’ Turold began.
‘Quiet.’ I raised a hand to cut him off. ‘Listen.’