Read 29 - The Oath for Free Online Page A

ordered to hurry to his defence – while all others in the land hurried to the King’s enemy: his wife, the Queen.
    If it had not been for Otho, most would not have struggled this far.
    The Sergeant was a kindly man to those from his village. Thick-necked, with a pepper-and-salt beard and a clump of sandy hair, Otho had two boys back at his home, and Robert knew he would be as worried about them and his wife as he was about his own wife, Susan. But Otho would not allow the men under him to rest and slacken off. He inspired them by his own iron determination, forcing himself on, hour after hour.
    A cart hauled by a wretched old nag rumbled past. The beast’s head hung low as it plodded on, beyond despair. The rain began to fall again. Few among the men would spare a thought for its suffering, and when it stopped, shivering, the man at the leading rein stared uncomprehendingly as though he had forgotten he had the animal with him. A spasm passed through the pony’s frame, and its head drooped so low, it almost touched the mud of the roadway. The driver and two others tried to beat it into movement, but it would not budge, whether they hauled on the reins or whipped it until its rump was red with blood.
    Robert Vyke heard the low, moaning whinny, and his eyes were drawn to the pony.
    ‘He can’t pull any more,’ he said.
    The driver snarled, ‘So, you want to carry his load on your back?’
    Vyke glanced at the light cart with the boxes set over the axle. ‘You can pull all you want, the beast’s done.’
    ‘Yeah, well unless we get some more like you to pull, we’ll have to rely on this God-damned pony,’ the man said, and tugged again. ‘Come on, in Christ’s name! God’s body, but you’d test the patience of a saint!’
    ‘Leave the poor brute,’ Vyke muttered. He walked to the pony’s head and scratched it under the chin. The creature was too tired even to whicker, but rested its head on Vyke’s hand. ‘He’s all but done.’
    ‘Out of the way, you prickle – we have to get on! Come on, you justler, you swiver – move your arse !’
    Vyke would have protested, but Otho put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Come on, lad. He’s right, you know that. The horse has his work to do.’
    Struggling on, his eyes rolling in his head, muscles tightening like bands beneath his skin, the horse began to move again, and Vyke turned away in disgust and pity as the driver swore, cajoled and yanked on the beast’s reins.
    Then, at the side of the road, there was a sight to drive the horse from his mind. Two young men stood, both dark-haired, their faces twisted with loss, while an older man lay between them, his hair almost white, his face grey and miserable, his lips blue.
    Robert Vyke passed them with a short stab of jealousy. He was so tired, the thought of lying down amid the mud and thin grasses, to feel the rain upon his face, the coolness of water seeping into his bones, and know that he need not march further . . . that would be a sublime pleasure.
    A memory snagged his mind as Robert glanced at the men. He had seen them before, in Reading, he realised. They had been with another vingtaine. The two were the old man’s sons, but it looked like they’d lost their father now. There was no movement in his breast, and his eyes stared, unmoving.
    But their loss was not Robert Vyke’s. He had little room in his heart to feel sorrow for others when he missed his wife and child so very much.
    Sometimes, while walking, he had a memory of his home. Of when he was with his Susan, her young face cracking into a smile as she joshed him, or that teasing expression of hers as she glanced at him from the side of her almond-shaped eyes. It was a look that he’d take to the grave, that was. When she did that, he had to follow. He knew what she was offering . . .
    He would probably never again feel the warmth of her body against his. That was the thought that made him sigh. And all because his lord had thrown his lot in with the