Waleran de Monceaux and Sir Aymery, woodlanders both of them, and wise in woodland law, lay that morning in a coppice close to the road and watched the King’s host go by. These Sussex men were men whom De Montfort trusted to the death. And they lay on their bellies in the thick of the dead bracken and the brambles, two wise dogs that saw and were not seen.
Aymery was stretched at full length, his chin upon his two fists, his grey eyes at gaze, while Waleran, more restless and impetuous, carried on a mumbling monologue, and chewed grass with hungry jaws. They were counting the banners and the pennons, and marking as best they could the lords and knights who were with the King. Aymery lay still enough till Gaillard’s company came up, the Gascon riding bareheaded, his blue surcoat ablaze with its golden suns. Gaillard had found favour with the King, despite the happenings at Pevensey, and the anger of Peter of Savoy. Aymery knew Gaillard at the first glance, and set his teeth hard so that the muscles stood out about his jaw.
Yet the tail of Gaillard’s company brought a far fiercer inspiration, for Denise walked there beside Marpasse, Denise with her hair of red gold shining like a torch against the green. She walked as one going to the ordeal of fire, white-faced, mute, looking neither to the right hand nor left. Her grey cloak went like a cloud beside Marpasse’s azure blue. The two men-at-arms rode stolidly behind, while the men in the rear rank of Gaillard’s troop were laughing and joking with Marpasse.
Aymery stiffened as he lay, and his hand went to the sword in the dead bracken beside him. He scrambled suddenly to his knees, with a fierce, inarticulate cry deep down in his throat. Waleran seized him, and dragged him back to cover, for they were so near the road that the slightest movement might betray them.
“God, man, are you mad!”
Aymery lay there a moment with his face on his arms. He said nothing to Waleran, but when he raised his head again his face was grim and full of thought. He kept watch there in silence, but the road was empty now save for a few camp-followers, women and beggars. Aymery rose on one elbow, and looked towards the drifting dust that hung on the heels of the King’s host.
He turned suddenly to Waleran.
“Brother, you and I must part company for a while. Go back to our men. I must follow the march farther.”
Waleran looked at him curiously out of half-closed eyes.
“I know the man you are. Simon trusts us both.”