said I’d steal the Grail,’ Robbie said. ‘He said I’d take it to Scotland.’
‘We have to find it first,’ Thomas said, but Robbie was not listening. He was just looking hungrily at the girl who huddled in the corner. ‘Robbie,’ Thomas said firmly, ‘she’s going to burn.’
‘Then it doesn’t matter what happens to her tonight,’ the Scotsman said defiantly.
Thomas fought to suppress his anger. ‘Just leave us alone, Robbie,’ he said.
‘Is it her soul you’re after?’ Robbie asked. ‘Or her flesh?’
‘Just go!’ Thomas snarled with more force than he meant and Robbie looked startled, even belligerent, but then he blinked a couple of times and walked away.
The girl had not understood the English conversation, but she had recognized the lust on Robbie’s face and now turned it on Thomas. ‘You want me for yourself, priest?’ she asked in French.
Thomas ignored the sneering question. ‘Where are you from?’
She paused, as if deciding whether or not to answer, then shrugged. ‘From Picardy,’ she said.
‘A long way north,’ Thomas said. ‘How does a girl from Picardy come to Gascony?’
She hesitated again. She was, Thomas thought, perhaps fifteen or sixteen years old, which made her overripe for marriage. Her eyes, he noticed, had a curious piercing quality, which gave him the uncomfortable sensation that she could see right through to the dark root of his soul. ‘My father,’ she said. ‘He was a juggler and flame-eater.’
‘I’ve seen such men,’ Thomas said.
‘We went wherever we wished,’ she said, ‘and made money at fairs. My father made folk laugh and I collected the coins.’
‘Your mother?’
‘Dead.’ She said it carelessly as if to suggest she could not even remember her mother. ‘Then my father died here. Six months ago. So I stayed.’
‘Why did you stay?’
She gave him a sneering look as if to suggest the answer to his question was so obvious that it did not need stating, but then, presuming him to be a priest who did not understood how real people lived, she gave him the answer. ‘Do you know how dangerous the roads are?’ she asked. ‘There are coredors.’
‘Coredors?’
‘Bandits,’ she explained. ‘The local people call them coredors. Then there are the routiers who are just as bad.’ Routiers were companies of disbanded soldiers who wandered the highways in search of a lord to employ them and when they were hungry, which was most of the time, they took what they wanted by force. Some even captured towns and held them for ransom. But, like the coredors, they would regard a girl travelling alone as a gift sent by the devil for their enjoyment. ‘How long do you think I would have lasted?’ she asked.
‘You could have travelled in company?’ Thomas suggested.
‘We always did, my father and I, but he was there to protect me. But on my own?’ She shrugged. ‘So I stayed. I worked in a kitchen.’
‘And cooked up heresy?’
‘You priests do so love heresy,’ she said bitterly. ‘It gives you something to burn.’
‘Before you were condemned,’ Thomas said, ‘what was your name?’
‘Genevieve.’
‘You were named for the saint?’
‘I suppose so,’ she said.
‘And whenever Genevieve prayed,’ Thomas said, ‘the devil blew out her candles.’
‘You priests are full of stories,’ Genevieve mocked. ‘Do you believe that? You believe the devil came into the church and blew out her candles?’
‘Probably.’
‘Why didn’t he just kill her if he’s the devil? What a pathetic trick, just to blow out candles! He can’t be much of a devil if that’s all he does.’
Thomas ignored her scorn. ‘They tell me you are a beghard?’
‘I’ve met beghards,’ she said, ‘and I liked them.’
‘They are the devil’s spawn,’ Thomas said.
‘You’ve met one?’ she asked. Thomas had not. He had only heard of them and the girl sensed his discomfort.
‘If to believe that God gave all to everyone and wants everyone to share in everything, then I am as bad as a beghard,’ she admitted, ‘but I never joined them.’
‘You must have done something to deserve the flames.’
She stared at him. Perhaps it was something in his tone that made her trust him, but the defiance seemed to drain out of her. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall and Thomas suspected she wanted to cry. Watching her delicate face, he wondered why he had not seen her beauty instantly as Robbie had done. Then she opened her eyes and gazed at him. ‘What happened here tonight?’ she asked, ignoring his accusation.
‘We captured the castle,’ Thomas said.
‘We?’
‘The English.’
She looked at him, trying to read his face. ‘So now the English are the civil power?’
He supposed she had learned the phrase at her trial. The Church did not burn heretics, they merely condemned them, and then the sinners were handed to the civil power for their deaths. That way the Church kept clean hands, God was assured that his Church was undefiled and the devil gained a soul. ‘We are the civil power now,’ Thomas agreed.
‘So the English will burn me instead of the Gascons?’
‘Someone must burn you,’ Thomas said, ‘if you are a heretic.’
‘If?’ Genevieve asked, but when Thomas did not answer she closed her eyes and rested her head on the damp stones again. ‘They said I insulted God.’ She spoke tiredly. ‘That I claimed the priests of God’s Church were corrupt, that I danced naked beneath the lightning, that I used the devil’s power to discover water, that I used magic to cure people’s ills, that I prophesied the future and that I put a curse on Galat Lorret’s wife and on his cattle.’
Thomas frowned. ‘They did not convict you of being a beghard?’ he asked.
‘That too,’ she added drily.
He was silent for a few heartbeats. Water dripped somewhere in the dark beyond the door and the rush-light flickered, almost died and then recovered. ‘Whose wife did you curse?’ Thomas asked.
‘Galat Lorret’s wife. He’s a cloth merchant here and very rich. He’s the chief consul and a man who would like younger
