They came out from the crack in the earth and proceeded to cross the burned strip. All in all, they had now penetrated some distance in the dragon’s field. When they looked over their shoulder, Roche-de-Frêne yet showed with grandeur in the morning light, against the south-east quarter of a fleckless sky. But it showed as somewhat distant.... Garin understood now that they were to cross the dragon’s field, to leave it behind them, to escape as quickly as might be from its poisonous breath, from the reach of its talons. He saw also that, danger-grown as was their path of travel, it was the least so that should have been taken from the beleaguered place. The dragon lay here, too, but not, perhaps, the brain nor eyes of him.
The day shone bright and cool. Directly ahead a large campfire yet smoked and smouldered, and right and left of it and beyond grew the somewhat tattered tents of Cap-du-Loup’s force. In the assault, on the way to the assault, Cap-du-Loup drove his men like a storm. At other times he let them live as they would.
There were Free Companions, a score or so, around the fire. These caught sight of the two upon the burned and blackened strip between them and the followers’ camp. There was passage to and fro, as the gods of license knew! Many figures of the world strayed almost at will, found lanes enough through the loose warp of the time’s armies. A woman and a jongleur might find a groove, so easy, so worn—There were, however, toll-gates.
Men who had been lying on the ground sat up. “Come across! Come across!” called one. Another rose to his feet and went to touch first, so claim first. A third sprang up, ran after, but a young giant, starting fourth, outstripped him, gained on the first. The men had been idle after a night’s sleep. Breakfast of goat’s flesh and bread was digested, the slight enough camp tasks disposed of, after which came idleness and yawning. Cap-du-Loup meant to join Aimeric the Bastard in a night attack upon Roche-de-Frêne’s western gate, and until then the storm slept. The Free Companions were ready for movement, enterprise, deviltry. They rose from the ashy fire, and finding pleasure in stretching of the limbs, raced after their fellows. The distance was a pygmy one; immediately they were at their goal—the giant just the first.
He put his hands upon the woman. “Come, my mie—come, my jewel!” The one who had started first began to clamour that he was first; there arose a noise as from any brute pack. The giant, dragged at by his fellows, half turned, turning with him her he grasped. The saffron cross came into view.
The Free Companion’s hands dropped. He, and every man as he saw it, gave back. The recoil left black earth between them and Jael and Elias. Quarrelling and laughter alike sank. Here was neither wooing nor taking, but a hand stole down, picked up a stone and threw it. It struck her, then she spoke. “Leave to the cross them who wear it, brave soldiers!”
The giant came from a hamlet that tilled Abbey fields, and he was wise beyond his fellows in what the Church said. Moreover he was by nature unresistant to Authority. It was not he who had thrown the stone, and now he struck down the arm of one who gathered a second missile. “Abbot Arnaut told us we mustn’t ever do that! If you do, God the Father’ll lengthen your score—burn you a year longer in Purgatory!”
“It’s the serpent of sin.—Naught’s doing but stoning!”
“You can’t strike man or woman when they’ve touched sanctuary! Yellow cross’s a kind of sanctuary—”
The giant found some upon his side. “That’s true! Father Andrew preached a sermon about it, Saint John Baptist’s day!—You don’t break into a house marked for plague. Holy Church says, ‘This cross’s my seal. I punish, and don’t you be trying to better it!’”