The Last Crusaders: The Great Siege by William Napier

air on the back of his neck and legs was cold.
    ‘But we two may lie awake a good deal,’ he said pointedly.
    There were only shreds left on the spit, but the vagabonds hung the cauldron over the fire again and threw on more sticks to reheat the last of the stew.
    There was little enough meat, but big white bones floated in the thin broth. Hodge stared at the stew and wouldn’t eat. He asked for bread but they had none.
    ‘You must eat, lad,’ said the old woman, but Hodge only stared at her woodenly and said nothing.
    ‘Then ye’ll sleep well enough, right down by the fire! Eh?’
    Again the men looked at each other.
    Nicholas felt uncomfortable. Something was wrong here. Yet if they went out onto the road now, it would be bitter cold, the hoarfrost settling, the poor creatures of the field limping through the stiff grass. Owls hunting. There were still wolves in the Welsh forests, they said. This was a good shelter.
    He would stay awake, that was all.
    The vagabonds gave them blankets that smelt foul. Or maybe it was just the air. The odour of poorly butchered meat. But perhaps he was wrong to be so mistrustful and suspicious. All they had done so far had been kindly and hospitable.
    He drowsed then stirred. ‘Hodge,’ he whispered. ‘Stay awake.’
    Hodge nodded. ‘My belly’s too empty to do otherwise. Besides, I’d no more sleep here than at the gates of hell.’
    In the small hours, Nicholas pushed his blanket off to go and empty his bladder. He had been fast asleep.
    Hodge was snoring gently. The girls all lay in a row, huddled up to each other. The vagabonds lay the other side of the embers. He had been wrong to be so suspicious.
    He went some way away behind a tree, and there was something there, half under the leaves. The moon passed behind a cloud. There was a foul smell here, even in this cold air. He stared down, his throat tight, and then up. Thin cold cloud raced past and the moon sailed out. Something hung from a branch above him, twisting with the wind.
    With stomach knotted, ears ringing with terror, he turned and ran back.
    In the clearing, two of the men were already on their feet, one looking over to where the girls lay.
    ‘Hodge!’ he yelled.
    The sleeping servant was awake and on his sturdy legs in a second, squat dagger in his hand.
    The men stood stock still.
    One smiled his blacktoothed smile, lit by the eerie moonlight.
    The girls were slowly awakening.
    In the darkness behind, Nicholas heard the old woman cackling.Then she shucked her rotten teeth and crowed, ‘Well, a lively night for all!’
    ‘What’s with the dagger out, lad?’ said one of the men.
    Hodge held it out steadily before him.
    ‘There’s something in the woods,’ said Nicholas, trying not to let his voice shake. ‘Hanging from a tree.’
    The man turned on him. ‘There’s lots in the woods, lad. Badgers and hedgepigs and—’
    ‘I mean a body, half butchered.’
    The man’s face darkened visibly, even in the dark of night. ‘So if we steal a sheep, well, what is that to thee? Mortal men must keep flesh and spirit together. You woudn’t turn us in for sheep thieves and see us hanged at Shrewsbury assizes, would ye now?’
    Nicholas couldn’t speak. All he knew was that was no sheep back there.
    ‘We’re going now,’ said Hodge, stepping back very carefully.
    The girls were standing, rubbing the sleep from their eyes.
    ‘To us, mistress,’ said Hodge quietly.
    In a flash, one of the men had seized Agnes and there was a gleaming blade at her throat.
    ‘One step backwards more and the little one here will be drained of her blood like a hung rabbit, d’ye hear me? I’ll not have you high-born whelps going out on the road and squealing to all and sundry of us. You’re going nowhere, not now. You hear me?’
    They froze.
    Clouds covered the moon once more and in the blackness, a figure moved in silence. It was Susan. She swooped down and seized a brand off the dying fire, whirling it through the air