A quest born on the battlefield will change a young boy’s destiny…
Excerpt:
The branches folded over them, crackling like a dog biting on chicken bones. Raphael and his mother wriggled beneath low shrubs and coils of fern. Even in moonlight they would be difficult to see, but it was not the place of safety his mother would have chosen. It was his mistake that had forced them to stop here.
His first mistake.
‘When did you last see Christophe?’ His mother pulled him close.
‘By the big oak.’
‘Tch!’
‘I’m sorry, Maman.’
The big oak was where they’d entered the forest. It was where enemy soldiers roamed, blood-soaked after a day of battle. There would be looting too, and worse. It was why a woman and two children had left a cottage that was no longer safe. And now one of the children was missing.
‘He told me not to wait. He said he’d catch up.’ Raphael’s tears could be heard in his voice. He’d ruined everything. He should never have let go of Christophe’s hand. Now, they had been forced to stop where Christophe might still find them. They should be further towards the heart of the forest, not here.
It was all his fault.
‘Don’t cry, mon petit. He’ll know where we are.’ Raphael’s mother, Marianne, reached for his hand. ‘I should have paid more heed.’
She’d been calling gently as they walked, to make sure the children were still following. Raphael had answered. But he’d spoken only for himself. Christophe had fallen behind long before she’d become aware of it. They were supposed to hold hands, but Christophe had kept stumbling, dragging Raphael down with him. In the end he’d told Raphael to go ahead, that he’d catch up.
I should have waited.
Christophe would surely find his way here. He had Raphael’s precious St Joseph scapular with him. Raphael wore it always, but Christophe had been afraid so Raphael had given it to him. It would guide him here; it had to.
Raphael and his mother lay for a while on their stomachs, the leaves above them gently shedding raindrops from the earlier storm. The damp earth smelled rich and strong and caught the back of Raphael’s throat. His ribs began to hurt and he tried to move, but there were footsteps now. Marianne pressed her fingers to his lips.
The footsteps came faster and louder. A man entered the clearing, his outline bulky as if he were wearing armour. There was a shadow of something in his hand, something that glinted for a brief moment as a dull beam of moonlight caught the edge of it. Raphael felt his mother’s hand tighten on his again.
Who was this man? A mercenary? Genoese? There was more moonlight now but it still wasn’t enough to see for sure.
‘Anglais,’ Marianne whispered.
When Christophe crashed into the clearing like a hunted deer, the mercenary had already begun to walk away. Had Christophe arrived but one minute later, his and Raphael’s lives would have taken different paths. But at the sight of the child, soiled and trembling, the mercenary turned on his heel. He had his arm wrapped around Christophe’s neck in an instant, pulling tight until his feet barely reached the ground. Christophe’s hands pulled at the mercenary’s arm but to no avail. Raphael wanted to cry.
The Herb Knot is a sweeping and passionate novel set in one of the most tumultuous times in English history, from a powerful new voice
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Thank you for hosting Jane Loftus today, with an enticing excerpt from her compelling medieval tale, The Herb Knot.
ReplyDeleteTake care,
Cathie x
The Coffee Pot Book Club