Wincing in double agony, I clutched at my chest as he bent down beside me and in one swift move cut through the leather thong that tied the coin-purse with which Lord Robert had entrusted me to my belt.
‘What’s this?’ he asked. He hefted the pouch in his hand, feeling its weight and listening to the clink of silver inside, before opening the drawstring. His eyes gleamed as he upended the contents into his palm, letting a stream of coins pour forth.
‘He must have stolen it,’ said one of his companions, a thickset man with lank hair and a large wart on the tip of his nose. ‘I reckon he was looking to rob you too, until you caught him.’
‘Rob me of my Joscelina, indeed,’ Gerbod murmured. He tipped the silver back into the purse and glanced down at me. ‘That’s right, isn’t it? Do you know how they punish your sort here?’
‘I’m no thief,’ I said. ‘That silver belongs to my lord, Robert de Commines.’
But the fishmonger did not want to listen to my protests. He landed another kick to my gut before, at his signal, the lank-haired man stepped forward and dragged me to my feet. I might, I suppose, have shouted out for help, but it seemed the cowardly thing to do, and in any case how many of the market-goers would want to involve themselves in something that was none of their business? Far better, in their eyes, to let things take their course than to risk injury and perhaps worse. And so it was then. Dazed and blinking to keep the tears of pain from my eyes, I glanced around, trying desperately to meet the eye of anyone, man or woman, who might come to my aid, but they all kept their heads bowed low as they hustled past. The pipe and tabor still played; elsewhere merchants continued to call out the prices of their wares. To them it was just another day, another street brawl.
Eventually my gaze settled once more on Gerbod, who stood in front of me. In his left hand he clutched the purse that contained his spoils, while in the other he held the curved knife, and it was with that one that he grabbed my collar.
‘This silver is mine now,’ he said, and spat in my face.
My arms were pinned behind me, and I could not lift them to wipe away his spit, let alone reach for my knife-hilt, for all the good that would do me. The breath caught in my chest as I glimpsed the glinting edge of his blade, mere inches from my neck. One slip of his hand was all it would take.
‘It belongs to Lord Robert,’ I said in a small voice. It was useless to argue, even if it was the truth. But the truth was all I had to offer, and no other ideas came to mind.
‘Suppose that it did,’ the fishmonger said as he clutched tighter at my collar, ‘tell me this: where is he now to claim it?’
‘Closer than you think,’ came a voice from somewhere behind me, and a wave of relief broke over me, for it was a voice I knew well. A look of surprise came over Gerbod’s face, which quickly changed to a frown as he let go of me and faced the newcomer. A shiver came over me and I breathed deeply as the knife left my throat. I tried to turn but the lank-haired one still held me. Even when I twisted my neck to look over my shoulder, all I could see was a shadowy, indistinct figure, for the sun was in my eyes.
‘This isn’t your concern, friend,’ said the fishmonger.
The figure shouldered his way through the ring of men around me, his mail chinking. With every step the shadow resolved, until I could make out familiar features: his well-trimmed beard, of which he had always been proud; and his thick eyebrows, which lent him a stern appearance. He was then a little less than thirty in years, and while he was neither especially tall nor imposing in stature, he nonetheless had a manner and a way of speaking that always seemed to command respect, not just from those in his employ but from others too. Silver rings adorned both his hands; he was clad in a newly polished hauberk that glistened in the light, while hanging from his belt was a scabbard decorated with enamelled copper and gemstones of many hues.
‘I rather think it is my concern,’ he answered. ‘My name is Robert de Commines. The boy is one of my retainers.’
He did not meet my eyes as he said this. Instead he fixed his gaze upon Gerbod, who could only give a snort in reply, for the first time seemingly unable to think of anything to say.
‘Let him go,’ Lord Robert said. ‘The rest of you, sheathe your weapons. If any of you should so much as lay a scratch upon him, you will have my blade-edge to answer to.’
He rested a hand upon his silver-worked hilt as if in warning. The other men exchanged nervous glances with each other. They remained six against our two, and probably had a good chance of overwhelming us if it came to blows, the fact that one of us was armed with mail and sword notwithstanding. Yet running through their minds at the same time would have been the knowledge that to begin a fight in this place would not go unpunished. If they drew blood they would be hunted down and forced to pay the fine, and if they could not pay the price required by law, they would be outlawed at best and hanged at worst. None of them wished such a fate.