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caught Berenger’s eye, he
winked.
    ‘They look like the scum they are,’ the ginger man said. Berenger was startled to hear the Scottish accent. He had heard that many Scots fought for the King of France, but he had
never met one here before.
    ‘You are English pirates,’ the man-at-arms stated. He spoke strongly accented French, and Berenger thought the dialect sounded familiar. Perhaps it was from the north, not far from
Calais? ‘You are found to have attacked our lawful traffic on the sea. What do you have to say for yourselves?’
    ‘We are subjects of King Edward III,’ Berenger said in the same language. His hands shook as he ducked his head nervously. ‘We have not attacked any ships. We were there to
guard the King’s fleet.’
    ‘Only because your vessel was too feeble to withstand a fight,’ the man commented.
    The fellow called Jean de Vervins cast a glance around the assembled prisoners and shook his head. ‘Count, is it not astonishing? These are the fabled archers – those who are thought
to strike fear into the hearts of all France? I find this hard to believe. They look like ordinary peasants to me.’
    The cardinal had a high, sing-song tone as though he was singing the Vespers. ‘Perhaps these are some of the new recruits who have yet to see battle, my lord?’
    Jean de Vervins said, ‘No, they have the appearance of men who have been campaigning for months. Look at their clothing, their faces. These are not recent-comers to the fray. These are men
who have been living well on French soil for some months.’
    ‘You think so?’
    ‘Why, yes. And we should make use of them.’
    ‘And, how do you propose we do that?’ the man-at-arms said with a disdainful sneer.
    ‘As an example, of course, Count. We know that many consider these English to be infused with the powers of the Devil. I say, keep these near at hand to prove that the famous archers are
in truth mere clod-hoppers,’ Jean de Vervins said, his eyes passing over Dogbreath with every sign of revulsion. ‘Can you imagine any man being fearful of such as these?’
    ‘No, we must use them as an example to all who would seek to harm poor France,’ the merchant with the hard eyes said. ‘Put them to work, improving the defences of our town
against their own kind. By their own efforts they can keep us secure.’
    ‘At the expense of the guards necessary to watch over them?’ the man-at-arms commented. Berenger had noticed that the man called Jean de Vervins had referred to him as
‘Count’. ‘No. Better by far that we should punish them and throw them from the walls. We have no need of extra mouths to feed, especially when those mouths will require fighting
men to guard them.’
    ‘You would not release them to continue their depredations?’ Jean de Vervins declared, and his companion nodded briskly.
    ‘No. We would not wish to have them free to rejoin the English. Kill them one at a time. A daily celebration. We could start with that one,’ the merchant said, pointing at
Berenger.
    Jean de Vervins shook his head. ‘Surely we should begin with a common archer and save the captain until last.’
    Then the cardinal spoke. He had a calm, contemplative manner, with a faint crease in his forehead as though considering his words carefully. ‘No, I think not. I would blind them all and
cut off the fingers they use to work their bows, and
then
send them to find their way back to their friends. Perhaps we would allow one of them to keep an eye so he might lead them. A
display of our contempt for them would not go amiss.’
    The Count drew his mouth into a thoughtful moue. ‘Very well. It may encourage the other English to reconsider their actions.’
    Chrestien de Grimault took a pace forward. ‘I explained to you that I swore to these men that they would be well looked after if they surrendered to me. Not that they would be tortured or
executed.’
    ‘Then you spoke without thinking of your rights, Genoan,’ the