Thomas had left his sister Anne to travel home. The revelation that Geraint was to be wedded to his sister now changed much; the journey through the forest helped cool his blood from the anger and emotions that haunted his head in London.With each gentle rise and fall of beech glade leading him home his thoughts turned to those last five years fighting a war that now seemed as far away as his memories of being a child- chasing squirrels with his older brother and the pair of them ambushing his little sister and delighting in her angry pursuit all the way home. Home was near now- but half a day's gentle ride and yet he felt no connection to his mother and hearth as before the war.
The war had stolen his thoughts and warm memories and washed them in the icy rains for all to pick and rummage through like scavenging crows.This is the payment for his sins and death dealing he thought and now a pervading sadness brought even his horse to a halt- an animal senses these things he well knew. Thomas started to cry five years of misery, of missing his mother's smell when she embraced him or the sweet drift of perfume of her stewing fruits for preserves. Then it was in the rewinding of five missed Christmases that an image of Geraint flashed into this moving tapestry rolling across his closed eyes.It was the terrible battle of his first January side by side with his brother and father outside a small town when they had finally skirted the picket defences and crossed the frozen river to rout the French from the flank. There at that moment Thomas saw a knight in red and black colours slice down a woman protecting her fallen husband's body. Now he understood everything about Geraint that he knew from the start in his bones- Geraint was evil inside and as he wiped his drying tears Thomas would have to face his future brother in law with that memory to see what forgiveness was forthcoming.Thomas knew that he himself had killed without caring-it was the lust of war and is in every man's heart-the devil inside.He kicked his horse homewards and then gave her some whip with the rein.The wind felt good on his face and now the thought of home cooking and mead drinking with a good night fire in the hearth with his uncle and cousins carried him the final miles.
Two days ride to the west, as the sun set over a chalk ridge overlooking a fertile valley of copse and water meadow, a flock of sheep and lambs were being driven by two young shepherds.Their distant shouts of encouragement to their errant flock was broken by the excited chirps of a blackbird disturbed from her nest. Two dark figures crouched beneath the hawthorn hedge plotting ambush.
Down in the willows that arched over the riverbank, lay a wagon and horses with two more men laying low. The young shepherds now came into view laughing about some recent conquest of a maiden.
Neither shepherd or their dog drew another full breath. The arrows were silent and ruthless. The ambush was complete and the four men ran to load the lambs and sheep into the wagon.
As hardly a word was exchanged one smaller figure appeared and finished the work of the arrows with a sharp and spiteful thrust of a dagger into the necks of the shepherds. Then their bodies were rifled for anything of use- belts and cloaks, even their shoes.
The wagon now full of rustled sheep made way eastwards along the track to London. A tall man bent over one of the naked bodies and pulled out the arrow. The fletch was red and black. Another man rode up with an impatient command. It was Geraint.
