"You expect us to believe, FitzOsbern," he said, his voice a low, ultra-dangerous monotone, "that a man like you, a sentimental fool who'd take the code literally even to the point of his own death, would murder Countess Madalyn in her sleep?" Before Ranulf could reply, Navarre had thrown down his gauntlet. "
This
says differently!"
Resignedly, Ranulf collected his sword-belt from a corner, buckled it to his waist, and reached down for the gauntlet.
"Pick that glove up, Ranulf, and you cross swords with me as well," Earl Corotocus said.
"My lord!" Navarre protested.
"We are
all
of us engaged in a trial by battle!" the earl shouted. "Or hadn't you dogs noticed?" He rounded back on Ranulf. "But you, sir, have some questions to answer. You say you went to look for the countess?"
"The only way for us to survive this situation, my lord, is to parley with her," Ranulf tried to explain.
"And you took that duty on yourself?"
"
You
weren't there."
"You insolent..." Navarre snapped, but the earl raised a hand for silence.
"It wasn't my initial plan," Ranulf added. "But it seemed like a sensible idea at the time."
There was another prolonged silence. Earl Corotocus watched Ranulf very carefully. Thus far unscathed by the siege, the earl's smooth, handsome features were pale with anger, his blue eyes blazed - but, as always, he was in full control of his emotions.
"I take it you failed?" the earl finally said.
"Yes," Ranulf admitted, truthfully.
They continued to stare at each other intently, as if both parties were waiting for the other to give something away.
At last, the earl sniffed and said: "You and Tallebois get yourselves some food, and them some sleep. I want you back at your posts by dawn."
As Corotocus walked back towards the Constable's Tower, Navarre hurried across the courtyard to catch up with him.
"My lord, my lord... FitzOsbern is a traitor."
"I know."
"You should have let me kill him."
"And divide the company in two?"
"He won't have that much support."
"He has more than you think," Corotocus said. "He's ended the iron hail. He's the man who held the Gatehouse bridge, remember? He's the one who warned us that we might soon be facing our own dead. Even the household men were listening to that."
"Sire, you are Earl Corotocus of Clun, first baron of the realm. FitzOsbern is nobody. A former wolf-head, a rogue knight who-"
"The men are frightened, Navarre!" Corotocus snapped, stopping in his tracks. For a fleeting second, he too looked vaguely unnerved. "They are also tired. They don't share our desire to show King Edward that the Earldom of Clun can hold the Welsh at bay." He strode on. "Besides, I'm not convinced that in a straight duel you'd be able to kill him."
"He'd be the first one to beat me..."
"There's always a first one, you imbecile."
They mounted the ramp to the Constable's Tower. Ordinarily there'd be guards on its entrance, but now all available men were on the walls. Corotocus and Navarre's iron-shod feet echoed in the tight, switchback stairwell as they ascended to the battlements.
"In that case, arrest him while he's sleeping," Navarre said. "Bring charges, make it legal."
"Much as I'm loathe to admit it, we need his sword. We need everyone's sword." The earl halted again, thinking. "But from now on, Navarre, stay close to him."
"Of course."
"Watch his every move." Corotocus smiled coldly, as though anticipating a treat. "When the time is right, Ranulf FitzOsbern will learn what it means to defy my will."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
In the darkest and quietest part of the night, with his assistant sleeping in the wagon, Doctor Zacharius made a solo round of his infirmary, checking bandages and dressings, delivering herbal draughts, either to relieve pain or induce sleep. Most of the casualties were at least comfortable, though the air was filled with coughs, whimpers and soft moans. Once he had finished, Zacharius crossed the courtyard to one of the other outhouses, where a copper bowl filled with water simmered over a brazier. First he washed his hands, using sesame oil and lime powder, and then, one by one, cleansed his surgical implements, towelling each one dry and laying them all out on a fresh linen cloth, which he'd spread on a low table.
"Doctor Zacharius?" someone asked from the doorway.
Zacharius turned. One of the earl's knights stood there - in fact it was the young knight who had survived the mission to destroy the scoop-thrower. Zacharius had seen him many times before and, though he had never had cause to treat him and didn't know his name, he had always thought him a sullen fellow.
"Do you really believe that dismembering one of these creatures will help us understand why they are invulnerable to death?" Ranulf asked.
Zacharius continued with what he was doing. "In truth, they aren't invulnerable to death, are they? From what I hear, these things are already dead."
"You know what I mean," Ranulf said, entering.
He'd finished another late meal in the refectory, as the earl had instructed, but sleep had eluded him for the last hour or so - for two main reasons.
Firstly, though he didn't think he could have done much more than appeal to Countess Madalyn's humanity, which was well known throughout the border country, he wasn't absolutely sure. He hadn't known the priest, Gwyddon, would be present. That had caused an unforeseen problem. Likewise, the Welsh had discovered that the English were in their camp sooner than he'd hoped. None of these things had been under his control. But couldn't he have reacted more appropriately? Perhaps he should have killed Gwyddon. Perhaps he should have taken Countess Madalyn hostage? It would have been difficult, but maybe he could at least have tried. Uncertainty about this was now torturing him.
The second reason was Doctor Zacharius and his comments before they had departed - about returning with a captive specimen. Of course, once the mission had got under way that would have been totally impractical, and Ranulf had quickly forgotten it. But now, with the diplomatic door closed, all sorts of wild thoughts were occurring to him. Had he missed another opportunity to turn the tide in their favour? But what did it actually mean to eviscerate something - even something as hideous as these walking dead - to take it apart piece by piece while it writhed and thrashed, purely to learn how it was composed and controlled? Such knowledge was surely not intended for Man; this was what Ranulf had always been told and had always believed. Such things were best left to God - and yet, after what he'd seen here, particularly outside in the rain and the mist, a terrible fear was now taking root inside him. At the end of the day, if God came down to Earth enraged and cast celestial fire on his children, would those children not justifiably seek to escape it - even if it enraged God all the more? Willing martyrs were made of very rare stuff indeed; only now was Ranulf realising this.
"I can't answer your question," Zacharius said, still cleaning his tools. "But put it this way, I don't believe in sorcery."
"Even after everything we have seen with our own eyes?" Ranulf asked.
"Oh, it exists... superficially. But when a man performs acts of 'sorcery', what he's really doing is manipulating the laws of nature in ways not yet known to the rest of us."
"And you think you can learn about such laws by opening the flesh of one of these walking dead?"
"The Greek physician, Hippocrates, was convinced that diseases did not afflict mankind as a punishment from the gods, but because the systems of organs that make up our bodies were for some reason malfunctioning. He developed many remedies through his studies of the human body, often after life had expired. He saved innumerable lives and the human race was no worse off for that. The Roman doctor, Galen, produced countless books containing detailed sketches of human anatomy, which enabled his students to treat a variety of previously serious ailments with simple procedures. My proposal was similar, if not exactly the same - a straightforward investigation, the results of which might benefit us all."
Ranulf pondered this.
"Why do you ask?" Zacharius wondered. "Are you planning to go out there again, when the last time only two of you returned alive?"
"The choice would not be mine," Ranulf said.
"In which case don't agonise over it. The reality..." Zacharius shrugged. "The reality is that I am neither skilled nor experienced enough to reach immediate and accurate conclusions. I would need the assistance of other learned doctors. In addition, it would take time, which we clearly will have less of once the fighting recommences. I would also need a better place in which to work. Somewhere light and dry to tabulate my findings, collate my samples..."
"I don't understand any of these things."
"But you evidently
do
understand that this battle will not be won by the usual means. You proved that not two hours ago."
"It wouldn't take a clever man to realise that."
"No, but it would take a brave one to admit it." Zacharius continued cleaning his implements. "What are you called?"
"I am Ranulf FitzOsbern."
"You're one of the earl's indebted knights, are you not?"
"I am."
The doctor smiled to himself.
"Something amuses you?" Ranulf asked.
"It certainly does. You occupy the lowest of the equestrian ranks, yet you speak to Earl Corotocus almost as an equal."
"At some point I'll be punished for that."
"I've no doubt you will. But he tolerates you for the time being because during this crisis he clearly considers that he needs you. And after what I heard you tell him, about your wise attempt to parley with Countess Madalyn, I would make the same decision."
"It was a poor plan. It failed."
"At least it was a plan. And you have
my
commendation for it, FitzOsbern, if no-one else's."
There was brief silence, Ranulf eyeing the gleaming knives, scalpels and forceps arrayed in their orderly rows.
"Why do you clean those things so thoroughly?" he asked.
"Because I will have to perform more surgeries with them."
"Is one man's blood poisonous to another?"
"Maybe. I don't know for certain, but why take the risk?" Zacharius laid down another tool - a screw-handled speculum, which he regularly used to open and clamp deep wounds in order to remove foreign objects buried inside them. "It may also be that even the smallest speck of filth will cause an injury to fester, and lead to blood disorders and death."
"You have a strong instinct for your profession," Ranulf observed.
"As do you."
"All I do is fight. Any man can fight."
"I can't. Not to your standard."
"But almost no-one at all can do what you do."
Zacharius smiled again. "Don't flatter me too much, my friend. We all have our instincts. That stubborn fool Benan's instinct tells him that only God can save us now. He thus refuses to allow me to treat him. He wouldn't even be brought down here to the infirmary, but insisted on making his own way from the Constable's Tower to the chapel, where there is no bed, no warmth - and he had to crawl on his belly most of the distance, because he's lost too much blood to stand. But that's all to the good, he says. He has to win back the Lord's favour, and the only way to do that is by self-imposed penance."
"You criticise him for it?"
"Not really." Zacharius sighed. "Who is to say that I am right and Benan is wrong? If forced to make a judgement, I suppose I'd always rather men solved their problems by shedding their own blood rather than the blood of others."
"And yet you'd have no qualm about cutting one of these creatures open to examine its entrails... even if it is bound with chains and completely harmless?"
"None whatsoever."
"Some might say that God would object."
"Some might also say that if a man were brought to me with a mangled limb, God would object to my removing that limb in order to save the man's life. Do you think He would, FitzOsbern? When in all the great hunting-chases of England, limbs are regularly lopped for the far less edifying reason of punishing poaching, and yet those wielding the axe are almost never struck down or even castigated by holy Church, as far as I can see?"
Ranulf struggled visibly with his doubts.
"Surely this is not a difficult concept for you?" Zacharius said. "You who this very night has defied the conventions of his own martial world, bypassing your overlord to make what you believed was a correct decision? But don't trouble yourself with such seditious thinking, my friend. I understand your reservation. How many sacred cattle can we slaughter before we have nothing left to defend? Perhaps it's better to return to your post on the castle wall and leave me in my hospital, where we can both stick to our allotted tasks, which..." He lowered his voice until it was almost inaudible. "Which, in truth, will yield the world little."
Ranulf moved away from the outhouse, still deep in thought - only to return a few moments later.
"I can't capture one of these creatures for you," he said from the doorway. "It would be impossible, so there is no point in my even offering to try. But I'll remember what you said for the future."
Zacharius nodded, as if that was as much as he could expect.
"And I will try to get you out of here alive," Ranulf added. "If I can."
"I wouldn't take any more risks if I were you, sir knight. Not on my behalf."
Ranulf shook his head. "You haven't been outside. You haven't seen what we're facing - not up close. The walls of this castle will not hold them for long."
"And more's the pity." Zacharius shrugged. "I'll never enjoy a comely lass again."
"That said, it's not unfeasible that one or two of us may escape. You should be among them."
"Battle my way to safety, you mean?" The doctor smiled. "My dear FitzOsbern, didn't I just tell you; I'm a lover, not a fighter."
"Maybe we can smuggle you out?"
"And would you smuggle my patients with me? You'd need to, because I won't abandon them."