“Because he’s a coward,” I snarled, unable to hide my bitterness any longer.
“Bors says not, so do a dozen other men,” Arthur challenged me.
“Ask Galahad,” I said, ‘or your cousin Culhwch.” Rain sounded sudden on the roof and a moment later began to drip from the high window-sills. Nimue had reappeared in the small arched door beside the stone table where she pulled the hood over her face again.
“If Lancelot proves himself, will you relent?” Arthur asked me after a while.
“If Lancelot shows himself to be a fighter, Lord, I shall relent. But I thought he was your palace guard now?”
“His wish is to command in Durnovaria only until his wounded hand heals,” Arthur explained, ‘but if he does fight, Derfel, then you will elect him?”
“If he fights well,” I promised reluctantly, ‘yes.” I was fairly sure it was a promise I would never have to keep.
“Good,” Arthur said, pleased as always to have found a measure of agreement, then he turned as the church door banged open with a gust of rainy wind and Sansum ran inside followed by two monks. The two monks were carrying leather bags. Very small leather bags.
Sansum shook water off his robe as he hurried up the church. “We have searched, Lord,” he said breathlessly, ‘we have hunted, we have pecked high and low, and we have assembled what little treasures our paltry house possesses, which treasures we now lay before you in humble but reluctant duty.” He shook his head sadly. “We shall go hungry this season as a result of our generosity, but where a sword commands, we mere servants of God must obey.”
His monks poured the contents of the two bags on to the flagstones. A coin rolled across the floor until I trapped it with my foot.
“Gold from the Emperor Hadrian!” Sansum said of the coin.
I picked it up. It was a brass sesterce with the Emperor Hadrian’s head on one side and an image of Britannia with her trident and shield on the other. I bent the coin double between my finger and thumb and tossed it to Sansum. “Fool’s gold, Bishop,” I said.
The rest of the treasure was not much better. There were some worn coins, mostly copper with a few of silver, some iron bars that were commonly used as currency, a brooch of poor gold and some thin golden links from a broken chain. The whole collection was perhaps worth a dozen gold pieces. “Is this all?” Arthur asked.
“We give to the poor, Lord!” Sansum said, ‘though if your needs are pressing then maybe I could add this.” He lifted the golden cross from around his neck. The heavy cross and its thick chain were easily worth forty or fifty gold pieces and now, reluctantly, the Bishop held them out to Arthur. “My personal loan for your war, Lord?” he suggested.
Arthur reached for the chain and Sansum immediately jerked it back. “Lord,” he dropped his voice so that only Arthur and I could hear him. “I was unjustly treated last year. For the loan of this chain,” he twitched it so that the heavy links clinked together, “I would demand that my appointment as King Mordred’s personal chaplain be honoured. My place is at the King’s side, Lord, not here in this pestilential marshland.” Before Arthur could respond the door of the church opened once again and a rain soaked Issa shambled inside. Sansum turned furiously on the newcomer. “The church is not open to pilgrims!” the Bishop snapped. “There are regular services. Now get out! Out!”
Issa pushed wet hair away from his face, grinned and spoke to me. “They hide all their goods beside the pond behind the big house, Lord, all of it under a pile of rocks. I watched them put today’s tribute there.”
Arthur plucked the heavy chain from Sansum’s hand. “You may keep those other treasures’ he gestured at the shabby collection on the floor ‘to feed your paltry house through the winter, Bishop. And keep your torque as a reminder that your neck is in my gift.” He strode towards the door.
“Lord!” Sansum shouted in protest. “I beg you’