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Berenger had a thick beard and a wall eye, but that didn’t stop him from aiming
blows regularly at the vintener as they marched.
    Not that their bullying produced a reaction from the English. The archers and sailors bent under the buffets, and apart from Tyler yelping, there was little sound from them, only the constant
rattle of the chains at wrists and ankles. Dogbreath ignored every blow with the stoicism of a saint who can see heaven opening before him. Saint Lawrence ducked, but with his height he was hit
more than most. Clip was struck over the head with a ferocity that made his legs crumple beneath him, but Jack Fletcher and John of Essex were near enough to grab an arm each and, ducking from the
blows now aimed at themselves, they hurried Clip forwards. He tried to pick his feet up, first one boot then the other, but with the length of chain securing his ankles, he could not bring either
foot forward far enough to take his weight, and at the speed with which they were propelling him, he could not move both together. Eventually he gave up and allowed his boots to scuff along,
dragging in the dirt.
    The room into which they were brought was a broad hall with a stone-flagged floor. On the walls hung great tapestries with biblical scenes displayed, while to the left was a vast, unglazed
window that gave out onto a view over the harbour itself. From there Berenger could see the sleek lines of three galleys at their moorings, while barrels of food and drink were brought alongside
and stored aboard. It was a sight to tear at a man’s heartstrings, to see the possibility of escape so near to hand, yet with no means to achieve it.
    There were two long tables set out, and on each were piles of parchments and scrolls, while a small army of clerks scurried about, as busy as rats in a bakery. However, it was not this excited
bustle that caught Berenger’s attention, it was the five men standing before him.
    Two looked like well-fed merchants. One of the pair was a little under five and a half feet tall, with pleasant features under mousy-coloured hair. He looked like a man who was prone to laughter
and conviviality, but Berenger saw that he had the thick neck of a warrior used to wearing a steel helm. His shoulders too had the breadth of a man who wielded a lance. He was someone to watch, the
vintener decided.
    The second merchant had pale brown hair, and a harder expression on his flabby face. Taller than the first, this man was clearly no fighter. He had a paunch like a London banker, and his neck
was thick only because of the rolls of fat. As soon as the men entered, he fixed Berenger with a gimlet eye. There would be no compassion from that quarter, Berenger could tell. This fellow wore
the look of a man presented with the thief who had taken his purse.
    A little apart from these two stood a cardinal, a man with bright, birdlike eyes in a face that smiled all the time – and yet there was no answering smile in those eyes. He was, Berenger
thought, the most dangerous of all three men. Nearby was a ginger-haired, bearded man with a ruddy complexion. He stood square and powerful, watching the English with hatred on his face.
    The fifth man was a soldier through and through. He was as short as the first merchant, but his hair was thick and fair, offsetting his square, uncompromising face. His shoulders were broad and
muscled from holding a lance and sword. On his tunic he bore arms, and Berenger wondered what they indicated. Whether he was an esquire or a knight, the vintener could not guess.
    The slimmer, more affable-looking man spoke first. ‘You say that these are the devils who have wreaked such havoc? Why they look no more dangerous than drowned rats!’
    ‘
Silence
, Jean de Vervins,’ the man-at-arms said. He eyed the prisoners without emotion.
    ‘I caught them in the Channel,’ the Genoese said. He had followed in behind them all, and now stood at the side, eyeing them contemplatively. When he