De Chesnai turned away for a moment, as if some part of his recollections had left a more disturbing impression.
“What is it? What are you remembering?”
Bayard of Northumbria had possessed the courage and fighting experience of ten men; who was he, Roger de Chesnai, to even suggest …
“He looked more than surprised, my lord. He looked shaken. As if he was seeing something that should not be there. In any case, he was certainly angered beyond reason, for he took up his crossbow and attempted to shoot the outlaw where he stood.”
“And the outlaw?”
“He managed to aim and strike dead centre of the eye before the captain had even released the trigger.”
“A fair bowman, then, you would say?” Wardieu questioned dryly.
“The best I have ever seen, my lord.”
Wardieu studied the knight’s haggard face a moment then stared out across the gold and pink avalanche of clouds rolling toward the setting sun. “Describe him to me. As clearly as you remember.”
“I did not have a clear view, my lord, and the shadows were thick, but I could see he was very tall. Equal unto yourself, I should say.”
“Hair? Beard?”
“Brown hair, my lord. Very dark. And uncut as the Saxons prefer it, although I would give pause to say the rogue was of that breed.”
“Why say you that?” Wardieu broke in quickly.
De Chesnai answered with a shrug and a frown. “A feeling, my lord. A sense that all was not as it was meant to appear to be. Also, he wore a sword, and had the stance of a man who knew well how to use it.”
Wardieu nodded, absorbing yet another bit of information. Common woodcutters and thieves would scarce be able to afford the steel to own a sword, much less possess the knowledge of how to use one to any effect.
“His face was coarsely shaven and well weathered. His eyes were of no special colour. Gray, perhaps … or dull blue.”
“Devil’s eyes, they was,” muttered one of the servants who had survived the ambush. “Not natural, they wasn’t. Gave a man a chill just ter look into them—as if Satan hisself were inside the body gawpin’ out.”
“How would ye be knowin’ that, Thomas Crab?” demanded a second voice, owned by a man who had the sense to keep his head lowered and his eyes downcast to avoid notice. “Ye had yer head tucked ’atween yer legs the minute ye saw that great bluidy bow o’ his.”
“Aye, an rightly so,” the first man countered. “Cursed be the fool who watches the flight of a left-thrown arrow! Satan’s own hand pulls the string, so it does.”
Wardieu had only been half attentive to the outburst, but at this last righteous declaration, he again held up a hand to interrupt De Chesnai and stared at the servant.
“What was that about a left-thrown arrow?”
Before Thomas Crab could persuade his trembling legs to carry him forward to reply to the question, the pain pounding in De Chesnai’s temples relented enough to smooth the frown from his forehead.
“By God, the fool is right, my lord,” the captain growled. “The outlaw did favour the left hand. Why … there could not be five archers in all of England with his skill. Discover the name of the one who shoots with the Devil at his elbow and we will have the true identity of the rogue who dares to commit his crimes in your name!”
It was Lucien Wardieu’s turn to feel his composure shaken. “He … used my name?”
De Chesnai stiffened slightly, his dark eyes flicking to the sheriff, but Onfroi was still too engrossed questioning his own sanity at offering insult to the Baron de Gournay to worry that he had neglected to include this rather astounding claim on the outlaw’s part. Foremost in his mind, even as he sweated and twitched, oblivious to the conversation between the two men, was the expectant grin on D’Aeth’s face. The watery piglet eyes were glazed with thoughts of bloodletting, and De la Haye treasured every drop that flowed through his veins.
“Was there … anything else in his appearance that you recall?” Wardieu asked, his voice sounding forced and ragged. “Anything unusual? Any … scarring, or … obvious disfigurements?”
“No, my lord. He was in full possession of all his limbs and appendages. There were no scars or brands that I could see. He was a big brute, to be sure, but it was possible he was made to look more so by the vest of wolf pelts