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Hstone fall from the roof of the Church of St Mary and nearly
strike Count Henry on the head. The ill omen was ignored by
those who witnessed it, but its import would not go away. If he
closed his eyes, he could see the four divisions of Henry s army
drawn up on the plain beyond Leignitz. And in the centre were
the Silesian and Moravian armies along with the Hospitallers
and Templars. Standing out in their midst was Geoffrey, tall and
handsome, his head unhelmed, with the sun striking off his golden
hair. He wanted to cry out a warning, but no sound would come
from his throat. And even if he had managed to call out, the
jangling noise of the horse armour, and the chaotic cries of the
army s commanders, would have drowned him out. He begged
Geoffrey just to look back  to see him one last time  but their
eyes didn t meet. Geoffrey only had eyes for the enemy, which
was now ranged on the farthest edge of the plain. They were
massed like a sea of ants  a hundred of them for every man in
the Christian army  and a single, mournful sigh escaped the
lips of the assembled knights at the sight. The Tartar vanguard
advanced in close order, and Henry, on seeing their numbers
were so small, sent in his own horsemen together with the
Teutonic Knights. The Tartars began to retreat, and, to press
home his advantage, Henry committed the Templars and
Hospitallers to the fray. Waving his sword in the air, the bare-
headed Geoffrey led the charge towards the fleeing Tartars. His
109
hair streamed out behind him, and the black and white Templar
banner fluttered above him. Then he was in the midst of battle,
swinging his sword to left and right and carving a swathe through
the little horsemen. Bernard gloried in his manliness, until a
swirling mist suddenly enveloped the Christian army. It built
into a thick cloud of noxious yellow fumes, and Geoffrey was
gone from sight.
Bernard called out in his sleep, but the nightmare was destined
to continue to its inexorable end. The flight of the Tartar army
had been a trap, and the Templar and Hospitaller knights,
blundering around in the smoke, were cut down by a hail of arrows.
When it cleared, all Bernard could see were bodies, a mountain
of corpses, covered in blood. At the top of the horrendous mound
lay Geoffrey, his breast pierced by a dozen arrows. His face swam
into view, contorted and fearful, with gouts of dark blood pouring
from the corners of his eyes like tears. As Bernard looked on in
horror, the flesh fell from Geoffrey s face, leaving a bleached and
eyeless skull. All around was the stink of rotting bodies  the
stench filled the sleeping man s nostrils. He tossed and turned,
his face screwed up in revulsion. Then he was alone with Geoffrey,
cradling him in his arms. He looked down into the horror of his
face, and his bony jaw opened, creaking like an un-oiled door.
Geoffrey began to speak.
Bernard awoke with a start, sweating, knowing he would never
hear Geoffrey s last words. The nightmare always ended at this
point in the awful saga. He rolled from the narrow cot on which
he lay and pulled his rumpled, stinking robe into some semblance
of order. He had not washed or changed his linen since seeking
refuge in the Domus Conversorum, and every night the visions
came, haunting him and drenching him in sweat. He knew his
one companion, Bellasez, did not care about the smell  he rarely
washed himself. The malodorous nature of the Jew-convert had
irritated the normally fastidious Bernard in the past. Now, he
did not notice the smell of his companion, nor could he care less
about the state of his own body. And where the ramblings of the
old man had annoyed him beyond comprehension as he strove
for his soul, he now quite enjoyed his undemanding company. At
least Bellasez did not ask how he had come to be in the state he
was, and why he did not leave the house.
He had spent a few blessed days imagining he could ignore the
world and what he had done, blanking his mind to the
consequences. But in the early hours of this morning, he had
110
fancied he could hear the matins bell ringing at Trill Mill, and
knew he must set matters right. Rousing the bewildered Bellasez
from his bed, he had sat with him in the dark, tutoring the old
man in what he had to do and say as soon as it got light. Bellasez
had nodded, splashing spittle down the front of Bernard s black
robe. The friar had not been sure if the Jew-convert really
understood, but he was Bernard s only hope. He sent Bellasez
on his way, and closed the door behind him quickly, so as not to
be noticed by the tradesmen, who were already beginning to stir
on what was another ordinary day for them. A day of reckoning
for Bernard. Exhausted, he had returned to his cot, and fallen
straight back to sleep. It had been then that the nightmare had
returned.
Making his way across the marshy ground towards the Dominican
friary, Falconer wondered what the import of Guillaume de
Beaujeu s words might be. He had suggested Falconer speak to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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