and a new timbre was in his voice. I felt resolution flooding through him. He said, The baggage train. Tomorrow, or the day after it will come. There's our gold.'
I must have stared at him, because he laughed, amusement creeping back as he spoke.
He said, 'In the town, there are men who would barter for coin what I could sell: saddles, spare armor, horses.' He smiled, 'Iron spurs serve as well as gold, plain saddles as well as fancy ones. What we can sell at their fair we will.'
'But Raoul,' I almost hesitated to say it, what knight is there who does not wear his golden spurs, what squire so humble that he does not hope to keep his second horse? But I would not mention that, rather I hoped to keep him talking to raise his spirits and so raise mine.
'And those builders, which ones are best?' I asked.
He said, 'It is true about the siege masters. I meant it for a jest, but it is true the best castle builders in Normandy have been the men who knew how best to tear them down. Geoffrey of Anjou, this Henry's father, was one, my grandfather, Raymond, who built Sedgemont, another. And your father, Falk, who built Cambray. Think, how was Cambray built?'
Again I stared at him. 'Of stone,' I said at last.
'Yes, yes,' he said almost impatiently, 'but in what manner?'
He pulled himself to his feet, clumsily, limped to the fire and thrust a torch into the embers to make them flare up, bright as day. The men who had been on watch turned to look at us, black silhouettes against the silver sky, then moved on, recognizing who we were. But what Raoul had to say was for all his men.
‘Look here,' he was saying, 'here and here.'
With a sweep of the torch that illuminated the litter of stones, he went to where the larger ones had been tumbled down and stuck the torch between the cracks.
‘And where,' he said, 'Hell's teeth, think, where did Falk get the stones along that benighted borderland? Where could he find men to quarry stone or shape and fit it?'
‘He found the stones,' I said, almost stupidly, 'there was a fortress built before, he took the stones from that.'
‘Yes,' he said, 'so he used stones that had been used before. Roman stones a thousand years old. Now look here, and here.'
The rest of his men, who had been sleeping, or lying as we had been, brooding and remembering, were stirring now, coming toward us. Like us, they had bedded where they could, stripped down to shirt or tunic for comfort's sake. Their tired faces with the stubble of beards show suddenly intent and watchful in the harsh light.
'He who would destroy a castle,' Raoul said, 'must grind it to dust. Henry's men did their work well, but not well enough. Had Geoffrey of Anjou been alive to see to it, we had not been so fortunate.'
He was rubbing his hand over the stone as he spoke. I passed my hand over another, as did his men, at first hesitatingly, and then with growing comprehension. Beneath my fingers, the beveled edges ran cool and straight. There were many such stones, piled upon each other, pried out of place, levered out perhaps. Some had shattered as they fell, some had been smashed with hammers, but for the most part, they lay where they had been pushed, intact, ready to be used again.
'And see here.'
On his knees, with a dagger in his left hand, he was already scoring lines across the patch of earth; each time he spoke, he etched the lines in deeper as if to make an imprint that would last. 'Henry's men left us another hint on how to rebuild Sieux,' he was saying. 'Henry himself is a good siege master, as are all the Angevins. Here, 'a slash,' he breeched the wall. Well, it was a weakness as we all knew. From the battlements, there was no view down, a blind angle then that must have been remedied some time. When we rebuild, we'll throw out a skirting wall, a curtain wall, thus and thus.'
Again a decisive stroke. His men were already hunkering around him, drawing lines of their own, arguing, agreeing. One
I must have stared at him, because he laughed, amusement creeping back as he spoke.
He said, 'In the town, there are men who would barter for coin what I could sell: saddles, spare armor, horses.' He smiled, 'Iron spurs serve as well as gold, plain saddles as well as fancy ones. What we can sell at their fair we will.'
'But Raoul,' I almost hesitated to say it, what knight is there who does not wear his golden spurs, what squire so humble that he does not hope to keep his second horse? But I would not mention that, rather I hoped to keep him talking to raise his spirits and so raise mine.
'And those builders, which ones are best?' I asked.
He said, 'It is true about the siege masters. I meant it for a jest, but it is true the best castle builders in Normandy have been the men who knew how best to tear them down. Geoffrey of Anjou, this Henry's father, was one, my grandfather, Raymond, who built Sedgemont, another. And your father, Falk, who built Cambray. Think, how was Cambray built?'
Again I stared at him. 'Of stone,' I said at last.
'Yes, yes,' he said almost impatiently, 'but in what manner?'
He pulled himself to his feet, clumsily, limped to the fire and thrust a torch into the embers to make them flare up, bright as day. The men who had been on watch turned to look at us, black silhouettes against the silver sky, then moved on, recognizing who we were. But what Raoul had to say was for all his men.
‘Look here,' he was saying, 'here and here.'
With a sweep of the torch that illuminated the litter of stones, he went to where the larger ones had been tumbled down and stuck the torch between the cracks.
‘And where,' he said, 'Hell's teeth, think, where did Falk get the stones along that benighted borderland? Where could he find men to quarry stone or shape and fit it?'
‘He found the stones,' I said, almost stupidly, 'there was a fortress built before, he took the stones from that.'
‘Yes,' he said, 'so he used stones that had been used before. Roman stones a thousand years old. Now look here, and here.'
The rest of his men, who had been sleeping, or lying as we had been, brooding and remembering, were stirring now, coming toward us. Like us, they had bedded where they could, stripped down to shirt or tunic for comfort's sake. Their tired faces with the stubble of beards show suddenly intent and watchful in the harsh light.
'He who would destroy a castle,' Raoul said, 'must grind it to dust. Henry's men did their work well, but not well enough. Had Geoffrey of Anjou been alive to see to it, we had not been so fortunate.'
He was rubbing his hand over the stone as he spoke. I passed my hand over another, as did his men, at first hesitatingly, and then with growing comprehension. Beneath my fingers, the beveled edges ran cool and straight. There were many such stones, piled upon each other, pried out of place, levered out perhaps. Some had shattered as they fell, some had been smashed with hammers, but for the most part, they lay where they had been pushed, intact, ready to be used again.
'And see here.'
On his knees, with a dagger in his left hand, he was already scoring lines across the patch of earth; each time he spoke, he etched the lines in deeper as if to make an imprint that would last. 'Henry's men left us another hint on how to rebuild Sieux,' he was saying. 'Henry himself is a good siege master, as are all the Angevins. Here, 'a slash,' he breeched the wall. Well, it was a weakness as we all knew. From the battlements, there was no view down, a blind angle then that must have been remedied some time. When we rebuild, we'll throw out a skirting wall, a curtain wall, thus and thus.'
Again a decisive stroke. His men were already hunkering around him, drawing lines of their own, arguing, agreeing. One
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