Captives Read Online Free PDF Page B

battle field. Just what a Norman should be. Moreover, he was one of the best horse riders Fitz had ever seen, and he hoped that before too long, Marmion would be able to teach him.
    “You are going, my lord?” Marmion’s deep voice was full of concern. “The roads are dangerous.”
    “This is a favour for… a very great friend.”
    Marmion understood immediately what Fitz meant. “Well then,” he said with a lazy smile, “I hope your friend has a lot of gold to reward you with when you return home!”
    Fitz chuckled. “I think we can safely say that there is more than enough that my friend can do for me.”
    The two men smiled at each other, but Marmion’s smile was the one that disappeared first.
    “You will be careful.”
    It was a statement, not a question.
    “I will,” said Fitz reassuringly. “You’ll be making hot baths for me again in no time.”
    Fitz turned to walk away, but Marmion put a hand on his arm.
    “You cannot think of going now!”
    Fitz shook his head. “I need to visit the city for a few items I will need on my journey.”
    “Let me go,” Marmion said. “I can easily gather for you whatever you need.”
    “I know,” said Fitz. “But I have not seen Canterbury, and I have heard it is quite beautiful. I will not be long. Ready a horse for me – I shall be leaving early tomorrow morning.”
    Marmion bowed his head, and walked away.
    Fitz walked along the corridor created by the mass of men, standing on both sides in the doorways of their tents. Almost one hundred men were camping here on the grounds of St Augustine’s Abbey – one of the largest areas in Canterbury where the locals would refuse to bring their weapons. Their reverence for the holy ground was not felt by the Normans; every man that Fitz passed carried a sword, and their hands never ventured too far from the hilt. The Normans had become accustomed to living in fear for their lives.
    As Fitz entered the city, the sounds of traders and hawkers began to reach his ears. Even in this terrible weather, money must be spent.
    “The best lace, the best lace that money can buy!”
    “Get them hot, get them here, get them now…”
    “…and I dare you to find better!”
    Fitz smiled as he heard the babble of voices. It was almost second nature to him now, streaming out the Norman from the Anglo-Saxon, but he still struggled with some words within the Anglo-Saxon tongue. It was so different from anything he had ever encountered; just like this wild island where rain almost always fell.
    As he walked, some traders carefully approached him in broken Norman.
    “Lord, lord see these, see these, lord…”
    Fitz waved them aside with a quick sweep of his hand, and was amazed to see them melt back into the general bustle of the street. He turned, and saw that the men were hurriedly talking amongst themselves, trying desperately not to attract his notice. He caught something of what they were saying.
    “…go back to his own country…”
    Fitz sighed, and continued back along the main street within Canterbury. If only he could return home to Normandy.
    The rain had subsided to a drizzle, but Fitz was still struggling to ignore it. His feet slipped on the wet stones of the street, and he muttered an obscenity under his breath. The last thing he needed now was an injury that would prevent him from fulfilling his promise to Odo.
    Several of the shop fronts that he passed were boarded up, and a couple seemed empty, abandoned. Fitz poked his head into one. The door was unlocked, and the ribbons and silks that were laid across the shelves were covered with a thick layer of dust.
    “My lord?”
    A small child was peering in at the doorway, staring with wild, frightened eyes at the man in Norman armour standing in an Anglo-Saxon shop.
    Fitz smiled at the child, although he wasn’t quite sure whether it was a girl or a boy.
    “Hello,” he said softly in Anglo-Saxon. “My name is Fitz. What’s yours?”
    The child hesitated, clearly