The stranger hurtled out of the undergrowth, and then he and Julianna were engaged in a violent skirmish. Bartholomew tore towards them, abandoning any attempt at stealth. But Julianna’s screams were so loud and piercing, that Bartholomew imagined she would have alerted any outlaws for miles around that there was potential prey on the road anyway.
He reached the struggling pair, and hauled the man away from Julianna. The moon slipped behind a cloud again. The man tottered backwards, but then regained his balance and raced at Bartholomew. They collided, and Bartholomew realised in panic that the man was attempting to put him in one of the holds that wrestlers used. He tried to wriggle out of the man’s grip, but powerful arms had locked around his chest.
‘Hit him!’ screamed Julianna, using a rotten branch to flail at the man. One of her wild blows caught Bartholomew on the neck, and he realised that he was in as much danger from her ill-aimed swipes as was the man who attacked her. He kicked backwards, aiming to drive his heels into the man’s shins. With a grunt of pain, the man eased his hold for the instant that allowed Bartholomew to squirm free.
‘Do something!’ Julianna howled. Her voice distracted the man, and Bartholomew used the opportunity to dive at him. The man side-stepped neatly, and used Bartholomew’s own momentum to throw him to the ground. Bartholomew scrambled away as fast as he could and managed to regain his footing. He had seen what happened to wrestlers once they had fallen on the floor, and he had no desire to have his arms bent into unnatural positions or his head twisted round on his neck.
The man grabbed at him before he had fully gained his balance and then they were both down, scrabbling about in the muddy road. While the wrestler tried to get a good grip on Bartholomew to render him helpless, Bartholomew fended him off with kicks and punches. Julianna, meanwhile, declined to come too close to the affray and began to throw stones. The first one fell harmlessly short; the second caught Bartholomew a painful blow on the arm.
‘Julianna! Stop!’ he yelled.
The man had managed to get a hand inside Bartholomew’s collar, and was beginning to twist it. As his tunic was pulled tight around his neck, Bartholomew began to gasp for breath. He balled his hand into a fist and punched as hard as he could, aiming for the sensitive region just under the ribs. But the man was solid muscle and, with the exception of a small grunt, Bartholomew’s desperate measure had no impact on him at all. Just as Bartholomew was beginning to feel dizzy from lack of air, the man went limp and the grip on Bartholomew’s collar was released.
‘There!’ said Julianna in satisfaction, dropping a heavy stone to the ground and brushing off her hands. ‘That taught him a lesson!’
Bartholomew struggled out from under the unconscious man as Cynric and Michael, alerted by Julianna’s screams, came hurrying towards them. Breathless and shaken, but still in one piece, Bartholomew bent to examine his opponent.
‘Did he molest you?’ Dame Pelagia asked Julianna, coming straight to the point.
Julianna shook her head. ‘He asked me whom I was looking for,’ she said. ‘I attempted to run away, but he caught me and I screamed.’
‘You most certainly did,’ said Michael drily. ‘I thought Judgement Day had come! What a racket! And now half the population of East Anglia knows we are here.’
‘Oh no!’ exclaimed Bartholomew in horror, breaking into their conversation.
Everyone turned to look at him, kneeling over the prostrate figure in the moonlit road.
‘It is Egil!’ he said in a voice filled with dismay. ‘And we have killed him!’
Chapter 7
‘But he was attacking you!’ protested Julianna, unrepentant. ‘And what would I have done if he had killed you, all alone out here in this vile place?’
Cynric shot her an unpleasant glance. ‘From what I saw, Egil did mean you harm, boy,’ he said to Bartholomew. ‘He was choking the life out of you.’
‘He was!’ agreed Julianna. ‘I saved your life, but now you think I am a murderess.’
‘Well, so you are,’ said Michael unsympathetically. ‘Where did you learn such things? Not at Denny, I am sure.’
‘It came naturally,’ said Julianna, not without pride. ‘I just knew what needed to be done and I did it. My uncle, Thomas Deschalers, always said I should have been born a boy. Then I might have been a fine warrior.’
Bartholomew gazed at her in revulsion. The woman had just struck a man dead, so that even now her hands were red from the blood that had splattered onto them, and she was boasting about it. He sat back on his heels and felt a wave of sickness pass over him. Egil had been killed instantly, his skull smashed like an egg under the great rock she had used. Even in the pale light from the moon, Bartholomew could see the huge depression at the back of the man’s head where the stone had dropped. What was he to tell Oswald? And what of Egil’s family? How would they manage without him?
Cynric patted him consolingly on the shoulder. ‘She saved your life,’ he said softly. ‘If she had not brained him, I might well have done.’
Bartholomew turned to look at him. ‘But you would not, Cynric,’ he said bitterly. ‘You might have rendered him insensible, but you would never have struck him dead from behind in the dark.’
‘What is done is done,’ interrupted Dame Pelagia sharply, looking down at the body. ‘This is neither the time nor the place for recriminations. Julianna believed this man was about to kill you, and so she took the action she considered appropriate. And now we should continue our journey before one of us comes to harm.’
Dame Pelagia’s reaction to Egil’s violent death was no more nun-like than Julianna’s had been, and Bartholomew wondered afresh about the religious community in the Fens. Were they all smugglers, slipping out in the dead of night with their habits kilted around their knees to haul stolen goods along secret waterways? Was it the nuns of Denny who had hired Alan and the mercenaries to kill him and Michael? But that made no sense – Bartholomew had never been to Denny before and the nuns could have no reason for wanting him dead. Perhaps it was something to do with Michael and his grandmother. He looked at the old lady dubiously, wondering what intrigues and wicked deeds she had encountered while in the service of the Bishop. If she had been in the spying business for years, her skills must be outstanding in order to have allowed her to have reached her ripe old age unscathed.
Bartholomew stood and walked away from the others, looking up at the star-blasted sky and trying to pull himself together. His first inclination was to go to Julianna and shake her so hard that her teeth would fall out; his second was to run back to Michaelhouse as fast as he could, and put the whole business – the pointless deaths of young Armel and Master Grene; the brutal murder of Isaac; the vicious attacks on him, Michael and Cynric; the Fen smugglers; and Julianna’s assault on Egil – out of his mind. He dismissed the wish almost as soon as he had made it: he had no desire to see Julianna tried for murder, since she had obviously acted in the firm belief that Egil was trying to kill him. But the matter would need to be handled very carefully, nevertheless, if the Sheriff were to be convinced her action was justified. And, Bartholomew admitted to himself, it was not so much the manner of Egil’s death that distressed him – horrifying though it was – it was Julianna’s total lack of remorse. He had met some selfish people in his life, but none were quite as cheerfully blatant about it as was Julianna.