Belaset's Daughter - By Feona J Hamilton Page 0,122

thirst and more, so that the campsite was soon littered with snoring men, surrounded by gnawed bones. In the flickering of the campfires, the areas around them soon looked more like the aftermath of a battle, with prone bodies lying at all angles. Only the heavy breathing belied the scene.

Not everyone had eaten and drunk their fill so recklessly. Bukerel and Puleston, sitting on the edge of the London crowd, talked quietly.

"We are near to the King and his army, then," said Puleston.

"I hear so," agreed Bukerel. "Perhaps we will launch the great battle tomorrow."

"How do you feel about it, now, old friend?" said Puleston. "Now that the hour draws ever closer when we will have to fight and perhaps with a soldier who has proper weapons, instead of using the tools of his trade?"

"Earl Simon will plan whatever is best for us," said Bukerel, stoutly. "I cannot pretend that I am not afraid, It would be foolish to believe that we will be in no danger.

Nevertheless, I have come to support him, and I will not run away now."

"Unlike our brave Mayor," said Puleston, bitterly. "He has shown that he is all windy talk and no action. He did not even leave London with us, but made an excuse as soon as we started off."

"Yes, that we could not leave London without leaders!" said Bukerel. "Who would have noticed, in these days of such turmoil? And how does he think that the presence of one man will keep the people in order?"

"He has damaged his reputation beyond repair," agreed the other man. "I cannot respect a man with no stomach for a fight!"

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Belaset’s Daughter

"Nor I!" said Bukerel, moodily.

He brightened.

"But we will make our reputations, then!" he said, turning to Puleston.

"If we live," said Puleston. "If we live . . ."

His voice tailed away, and both men sat lost in their own thoughts. Someone to their left, turned in their sleep, coughing and groaning. The campfires began to burn down, and the glow of the moon took over as night wore on. The soldiers stationed here and there to guard the campsite looked round nervously. There were still wild animals known to live in the woodland bordering the campsite, and they did not want to have to defend themselves against a sudden charge from a wild boar. The trees rustled in a slight breeze, and the grass, which was long and dry all around them, made strange sussurating noises. The occasional squeak or snuffling noise betrayed the whereabouts of field mice and voles, although these quickly ran away as soon as they caught the dreaded scent of man.

Every two hours, throughout the night, the guards were changed. Those who had been relieved went thankfully to their rest, leaving new watchers to flinch at unknown noises and wish heartily that their time was up.

As dawn broke, de Montfort arose and left his tent. He went to where Monchesny had spent the night, close by, and shook him awake.

"What is it?" began Monchesny crossly, then realised who was bending over him. He made to scramble to his feet, but de Montfort pressed him back on to the straw palliasse on which he had lain.

"Monchesny," he said, in an urgent whisper. "We must send a party to Lewes with the letter I spoke of. It is ready for signing. Find de Clare and send him to me."

"Aye, my lord," said Monchesny, promptly.

De Montfort left him to carry out the task and returned to his tent. Carefully, he took a scrip from where he had placed it near his bed, and drew out the parchment that had been prepared. If only the King would heed its words, he thought, how much needless fighting and loss of life could be saved! He hoped with all his heart that a battle could be prevented, yet he knew how stubborn Henry was about this matter of divine right.

Gilbert de Clare came into the tent at that moment, looking, as usual, as though he had spent some time preparing himself for the new day. De Montfort could not repress a smile at the sight of him, looking as though the last place he had spent the night was in a campsite in the middle of Sussex.

"What is it, Simon?" he asked courteously.

De Montfort waved him to a seat, and placed the parchment in front of him.

"Here is the letter I spoke of last night," he said. "It is our last chance to prevent bloodshed and to get