by David Gilman
‘I’m not beholden to you, Gilbert. I spend the night as I please. And she goes her own way,’ Blackstone answered as he pulled on his shirt.
‘And we go ours. The problem of recruiting men-at-arms and archers still faces us, Thomas. We cannot arrive at the Count of Foix with a handful of men. It would be like a eunuch visiting a whorehouse. A waste of time.’
Blackstone finished dressing. ‘We will find the men we need.’ He buckled his sword belt. ‘Or we won’t.’ With that he strode off to rouse the captains and ready the men.
Killbere glanced towards the woman’s sleeping quarters. Cateline came out of her room and fussed with her daughter. There was no sign of her son. Killbere looked idly around the courtyard. Horses were being saddled; archers were wiping any moisture from their waxed bags: despite their bows’ protective cover they were ever mindful of how damp could stretch their hemp cords. They fussed like the woman with her child. Killbere allowed her a moment’s leeway. An archer’s life – and those of others – depended on them protecting their bows. What she was doing was no different. Safeguard the children and they had a life. Henry Blackstone led the belligerent horse out of the stable. It was already saddled. Jocard walked with him. Everything Killbere saw that chill morning told him that bonds of trust were being formed. Lives were being entwined. The danger was obvious. A snake curled around a limb could bury its fangs at any time. And once its poison disabled its victim death would follow.
Lady Cateline caught him staring in her direction. Defiance flared in her eyes before she quickly turned away. There was no doubt in Killbere’s mind. Blackstone and the woman might be going their separate ways but she already had her claws in him.
*
They rode east, soon to separate into two groups. Blackstone rode at the head of the column with Killbere at his side, and the others behind in the established order of travel. Killbere frowned and peered behind him. Settling back to face the way ahead, he realized what was amiss. ‘Where is Beyard? And Aicart?’ He turned again. ‘And Beyard’s other man, Loys? Thomas, have they deserted us in the night?’
‘I sent them south at first light to raise men. The Gascons wanted the Prince so they need to fight for him.’
‘Aye, but most of these men are loyal to their own lords. There’s no love lost between the Count of Foix and Beyard’s lord, Jean de Grailly, even though they’re cousins. He has his own domains to defend.’
‘He isn’t in the lowlands, he’s up in the Pyrenees. Beyard carries my authority. Jean de Grailly will hear of it. He can either stay where he is or join us. But he has problems of his own against the French. We don’t need him.’
‘And who else do we ask?’
‘Ask, Gilbert? We don’t ask, we demand. And when we side with Foix then that’s another domain secure for the Prince.’
Killbere shrugged. ‘I don’t care who comes and stands at our side as long as they fight hard.’
Blackstone remained silent, and that aroused Killbere’s curiosity. ‘I see what’s going on, Thomas. You demand fealty from those who have to give it but there are still not enough men to fight off Armagnac. He has an army at his back. He has the French Crown supplying him. The truce between England and France is something separate. Edward and King John use others, like us, to do their dirty work. Now, how do we defeat Armagnac? There are those who would not side with us without payment.’
Blackstone smiled. ‘Then we pay them.’
‘Sweet Jesus on the Cross. You intend to bring in skinners? Damn their souls, Thomas, they are mostly scum and undeserving of your favour or trust.’
‘I give them neither. I will pay those who will fight with us – if they live. That gives a man extra strength in his sword arm.’
‘There’re won’t be many of them, though. Most are still down in Spain or making their way back. Time is short. And where do we get archers?’
Blackstone shrugged.
Killbere sighed. ‘You know, Thomas, if we get enough men and bring in local lords for the fight, it could be a glorious sight. Like the old days. Banners waving, drums pounding, trumpets blaring. Something to stir the blood. Put the fear of Christ into the French bastards again.’ He bellowed with laughter. ‘Thomas, it will be the best of times again.’
‘I’m glad the thought of battle cheers you, Gilbert.’
‘My God, yes. Age will take me down before any damned French blade, I guarantee that. And when that time comes I will crawl from my cot and bare my arse at them.’
‘A pretty picture. I’ll try to put it out of my mind.’
Killbere was more cheerful than Blackstone had seen him for some time. Even the fight at Babeneaux’s castle had not raised his spirits as much as the prospect of fighting the French again.
‘Come on, Thomas, let’s press on. Make your peace with Henry and embrace the husband-huntress one last time, then we bid farewell to the Italian and go our separate ways. We need some distance on the road today and a good place to camp for the night.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Guiscard the Lame felt as small as an ant as the looming figure of the German knight stared disdainfully down at him from the saddle. The horse alone dwarfed the woodcutter but the man in the saddle with the black cross on his mantle looked like an overpowering deity. Hartmann had brought the charcoal burner to the group of men who waited in the open meadow so they could see any surprise attack that might come from the copse.
‘How are you known?’ said von Plauen.
‘Guiscard the Lame, lord.’
‘Are you able to travel on that bent leg?’
‘I am, lord. Have done all my life. I scurry faster than a rat chased by a cur dog.’
‘I have already paid you to give us information,’ said Wolfram. ‘You will be rewarded by taking us to where any of these riders are encamped.’
Guiscard smelt money in the air. ‘As you can see, my lord, there are tracks everywhere.’
‘And if you do not know which are the most recent, then you are no use to me.’
‘Lord, some men rode close by two days ago. I did not count how many but we are cautious in our village and I sent one of the children to follow them. There was only a handful. As few as you. We fear armed men like them.’ He dared to raise his eyes to the stern-looking rider. ‘And like you, lord.’
‘You need not fear any harm from us, woodcutter. We do the Lord’s work and bring miscreants to justice. The Almighty will reward you with his benevolence for aiding us.’
‘And God’s blessing be upon you as well, sir knight. But it takes more than God’s kindly gaze upon our dirt-poor community to keep us alive through winter.’ Guiscard’s meaning was clear.
Wolfram nodded to the other half-brother. ‘Sigmund, give him silver, enough to keep a man and his family fed for a month.’ He saw the look of surprise on the man’s face, etched with lines of hardship and grime. ‘My generosity must be rewarded. If it is not or you lead us into a trap with the expectation of stealing from us, then I shall kill you.’
Guiscard nodded furiously, slipping the coins into a pouch on his belt. ‘It is a day’s ride, my lord. And I can only go so fast.’
‘Be tireless, and we will pay you more.’
*
Guiscard’s swaying gait belied his strength. The horsemen followed at a distance, horses at the trot. The silence of the countryside was pierced only by the screech of a passing buzzard and the rhythmic jangling of the knights’ armour on the reserve horses. Wolfram von Plauen’s keen anticipation of finally coming across Sir Thomas Blackstone and the possibility that Gruffydd ap Madoc might be with him had whetted his appetite to press on at speed. Patience, he told himself, was not one of the virtues in his armoury. He watched with bemused disbelief as the peasant Guiscard sped across the rolling land. His leg kept him at an awkward angle but, like any animal injured in a hunt or by a predator, the base creature had healed and adjusted. Curtains of rain swept across the land ahead of them. That was good. Men would camp and shel
ter from it, heads low, hunched over a smoking fire as rain dribbled down their necks. He would attack as soon as they were sighted. Did they need armour? he wondered. Mail would protect him and his men, and their mantle announced who they were. No, he decided, honour would best be served if they attacked in full armour. That way their might would provoke fear in their enemy. They would not attempt to conceal themselves. Honour dictated that they show themselves and then charge for the kill. If what the woodcutter had said was accurate, then Wolfram’s men would have no trouble fighting so few opponents, even if there were another half-dozen riders.
Guiscard stopped by a stream, dropped to his knees and lapped thirstily. The knights caught up with him.
‘He drinks like a dog,’ said Rudolf von Burchard. ‘He does not even cup water in his hands. These people are animals.’
The knights waited until Guiscard raised his head. ‘How much further?’ Wolfram asked.
‘Before dusk,’ said Guiscard, ribs heaving from exertion. He drank some more and without another word set off again.
‘Let him run ahead,’ said Walter von Ranke, loosening the reins and allowing his horse to drink. He leaned back in the saddle and quaffed from a wineskin. ‘I’ll wager these mercenary scum we seek are little different from that creature.’ He wiped a hand across his face. ‘This weather is like a wet blanket. The rain deadens the land and men’s minds. There is no biting air to fill a man’s lungs. Not like the Baltic. There at least the wind punctures like daggers and sharpens a man’s wits.’
Gunther von Schwerin drank from his wine flask. ‘Routiers’ blades will hone your wits,’ he said. He was older than his companions; his hair, closely cut above his ears, showed grey stubble. He had fought a crusade against the Baltic pagans for over ten years and knew nothing should be taken for granted when readying to kill. This land had been raped and pillaged over the years by the English and routiers. Its desolate appearance suggested it had nothing left to offer. Such austerity could make a man think that those they sought were little more than vagabonds, scratching what they could from a pauper’s bowl. Men of low birth unwilling to fight hard. But to think that way was a mistake.
‘If it is the Welshman he will be vicious. Ap Madoc committed widespread slaughter in the east. He has no fear of retribution. From what we have learnt of Blackstone’ – he corked the flask – ‘he is a different matter. He will try to outmanoeuvre us. He has the skill. He is no blunt instrument.’ He turned to the man who led them. ‘Wolfram, I urge you to proceed with caution. Righteousness will not save us if there are more than we know about. When we come upon these men, let us watch and observe them first and then attack.’
‘Gunther, we have not travelled across France to sit in the wet grass and watch our enemy. We are here to kill.’
Von Schwerin pulled his mail cowl from his close-cropped head. ‘Or be killed. We should be cautious.’
*
Guiscard was true to his word. He led them to a gentle slope where wild hedgerows and scrub grew and then urged them to dismount. The two half-brethren held the horses as Wolfram and the others crouched low and clambered behind their guide. Guiscard crouched like a begging dog. Wolfram, satisfied that the peasant had done as promised, nodded to Hartmann to pay him. No sooner were the coins in his hand than the woodcutter scurried away. Lying flat the knights peered over the rim of the rising ground. A dozen men were camped several hundred yards away. They had protected themselves from any rain-bearing wind behind them by settling into the curved bowl on the lee of the hill. A small stream coursed downhill: fresh water for cooking and drinking. It flowed into little more than a ditch at the hill’s base and then twisted away. The routiers had a clear view across the ground to their front. A sentry sat on the brow of the hill.
‘There’s a gully two hundred paces in front of them,’ said von Burchard. ‘The scrubland and bushes obscures a good part of it on the right flank. If we made our way to those trees and wait until darkness we could leave the horses and conceal ourselves there. Then we attack on foot at first light. They would not hear our approach because the wind favours us.’
The others studied the ground. ‘Better we should ride hard and take them at first light on horseback. It is God’s will,’ said Walter von Ranke enthusiastically, eager to fulfil his duty. ‘If there are more routiers nearby, then we would be exposed on foot.’
‘Brother Walter is right,’ said Wolfram. ‘There is no dignity in scurrying like rats in a ditch. We show them our strength. Strike them hard and fast. We ride through them to the crest of that hill and then turn and finish them.’
Gunther von Schwerin looked at his comrades. ‘We don’t know what’s on the other side of that hill. If ap Madoc or Thomas Blackstone are in that group they will not run – they will stand their ground.’ He pleaded with the man with whom he had shared years of friendship and danger. ‘Wolfram, let us take another day and encircle their camp. We should know what lies behind them on the other side of that hill. There might be more men camped there.’ He looked across to the youngest and most eager of them. ‘Walter, it is not God’s will that we throw our lives away needlessly.’
‘If they had more men, they would be with those we can see,’ said von Burchard.
Gunther could not keep the frustration out of his voice. ‘Are you blinded by pride? Look to their left – there is a forest not two hundred yards away. Would you not have men posted there to protect your flank? If these men are greater in number even by six or seven – perhaps more – over the crest of the hill, then we risk being overcome. There are only a few of us. These are not peasants; they are fighting men. And we are not on crusade with hundreds more at our side. We seek retribution, and if they kill us before we find the Welshman or Blackstone, then our journey has been in vain.’
The men fell silent, but they all looked to Wolfram to decide. Finally, he said, ‘We will attack on horseback at first light.’
Walter and the others smiled, but Gunther showed no such enthusiasm. ‘I will withdraw to a quiet place and spend the night in prayer asking God for his deliverance. My instincts tell me we will die tomorrow.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The first grey light of dawn had not yet filtered across the landscape. Wolfram von Plauen and his companions, Rudolf von Burchard, Walter von Ranke, Andreas von Suchenwirt, Gunther von Schwerin and Sibrand von Ansbach, adhered to the Teutonic Knights’ rule that they could not arm themselves or mount unless commanded to do so. It was the Grand Master who would usually issue such a command before engaging in battle, but as the knights were far from home, it was von Plauen’s duty to instruct the men. Once again Gunther had asked their leader to reconsider his decision. To wear armour would slow them down. They were not attacking a great body of men where many blows would be struck against the knights. This attack needed to be swift and deadly. Mail and mantle was enough. Von Plauen insisted that the knights show themselves in full battle armour. Gunther had no choice but to accept the decision.
The men had knelt in prayer and then the half-brethren, Hartmann and Meinhard, attended them. The knights were armoured in order of rank and seniority. Wolfram, because he was deemed their leader, was attended to first. He pulled on a tightly fitting arming doublet – a stuffed cotton and linen jacket with mail sleeves to resist chafing from the armour – and then the half-brethren bent to their task. Their years of practice prepared von Plauen quickly. They strapped sabatons to his shins and then the greaves. A cuirass was secured with ties and a mail skirt belted around his waist. Wolfram von Plauen remained poleaxe straight, letting the two men twist and tug to ensure the fittings were correct. Once the breastplate was attached they strapped a plackart over it to protect his lower stomach. Von Plauen breathed in, testing the strapping.
‘Tighter,’ he whispered, wary of his voice carrying to the enemy despite the wind being in his favour.
By the time they reached the pauldrons on his upper arms he was ready for his helm and gauntlets. Gunther von Schwerin w
as next and then one by one the men followed. The youngest and most eager among them, Walter von Ranke, barely kept his impatience under control. But he wished to impress the experienced knights so remained stoically impervious to the half-brethren’s fussing.
Dawn light streaked the low clouds as they were assisted onto their mounts. The wind had picked up but had shifted to their left flank. It should still offer them the advantage of not being heard on their approach until it was too late.
‘Wolfram, their lookout on the ridge exposes us. Let us put two men on the flank in case there are others in that forest,’ said von Schwerin.
‘Divide our force?’ Wolfram gathered his reins and pulled free his sword from its scabbard. ‘Why would some camp in the open and others in the trees? No, Gunther, it is plain to see where our enemy is. God is with us.’
‘God is with us,’ the others murmured. All, that is, except Gunther.
*
The horses tore across the divide. There was no sign of anyone stirring in the camp ahead. Blankets still covered the men; a whisper of smoke curled from a fire, the breeze pushing the damp smell of woodsmoke towards the attackers. Three hundred yards from the sleeping men and they saw the first throw back his blanket. At two hundred yards two more rose from the ground. They looked half asleep. Backs turned to the galloping horses. Gunther slammed down his visor. Was it possible the men had not heard their approach? The earth shuddered. Gunther’s heart lurched. All the men were on their feet. They turned and raised lances. The pretence of sleep had been a trap, waiting until their attackers could not avert the charge. A line of horseman spurring their mounts broke the skyline on the hill. Wolfram’s men would have nowhere to turn. The treeline on the flank shuddered as other men broke cover. Ten or more horseman bore down on them. It was an ambush. Gunther saw Wolfram charge straight ahead, the others only strides behind him. They would attempt to carve a path through the overwhelming odds, perhaps to escape over the crest of the hill as their horses laboured under their weight. Gunther pulled his mount away to blunt the attack from the forest. At least he would die buying the others time.
