King in Waiting

by Griff Hosker

He raised his head as I approached. “And now do you slit my throat?”

  I shook my head. “I am no murderer like you. What is your name?”

  “William of Glossop.”

  “Well, William of Glossop, return to Henry Sharp Sword and tell him that I know of his bounty. I will now hunt him – and I am an archer. He should fear me. Take your horse and go.”

  “My sword?”

  “Do you think me a fool? You have your life and that should be enough. Now go!”

  He mounted and rode north. I had made another enemy. We waited until he was out of sight and then continued to Oxford.

  We reached Oxford at sunset the next day and stayed in the inn where I had buried my chest. We were welcomed, for when we had stayed there before we behaved ourselves and paid well. We said we did not need the ostler to see to our horses and, while Tom watched, I dug up the chest. David the Welshman chuckled. “Clever, Captain!”

  “I did not need it then, but I think Easingwold might be a safer place, as this is a little close to de Montfort for my liking.”

  We ate in the inn and discovered that Lord Edward and his cousin were closely guarded at Wallingford Castle. My plan had been to attempt to speak with him, but I saw now that was impossible. We heard more about the laws that de Montfort was passing. He was not the king, but he was using the mob of London to make him so in all but name – he was trying to make a parliament of commoners. It was a clever plan, for it would undermine the great lords and the king. We would have a monarch but he would not be anointed. He would be the man who controlled the commons.

  However, I also saw the fatal flaw in such a plan. Men like the Earl of Gloucester would not be happy to lose power to commoners. Even allies such as the de Ferrers family might take their support from de Montfort. I spied a chink of light in a dark night.

  The next day we sought out the merchant whom we had been sent to find, Ralph Widdecombe. Tom and David carried the two large chests and I took the smaller one. Ralph Widdecombe had a large hall, which was attached to his warehouse. He was a portly man with a grey beard, which showed him to be an older man who enjoyed life. He had, however, sharp eyes. He was not a fool.

  “I see that you have not brought wagons, which suggests to me that there is something amiss.”

  I nodded. “My master’s lady has gone into labour. I have brought the jet, but the weapons will be brought later. My master sends his apologies, but he does not know when they can be fetched.”

  He did not seem unhappy and smiled. “If you have the chests placed on the floor then I will have the payment readied.” He turned and spoke to one of his servants.

  “I hope I am not causing offence when I speak, but you do not seem unhappy about the lack of weapons.”

  He nodded. “You are clever, and I can see that Geoffrey of York has chosen well. The fact of the matter is that I intended to sell on the weapons to a Marcher Lord, Baron Mortimer. Since the Earl of Leicester has sent Lord Edward to Wallingford, the roads into the marches are well guarded. I need your master to deliver the weapons directly to Wigmore Castle in Herefordshire.”

  I was no businessman, but I knew that this would cost Geoffrey of York money; more than the cost of transporting the weapons to Oxford. “And the payment for the weapons? Does that come from you or Baron Mortimer, sir?”

  “The baron and your master will not lose out financially. If any has lost out it is I, and I do not mind, for the risks were too high in any case.”

  The small chest with the payment for the jet arrived. I opened it and checked the amount. I could see that the merchant was unhappy with my action. “When do you return north?”

  I was not about to divulge that sort of information. “We have some business here in Oxford, and when that is done we will return to York.”

  “I hope you have a safe journey and apologise to your master for the changed arrangements. Blame the Earl of Leicester.”

  As we left for our inn, I knew there were politics involved. This merchant lived too close to the great lords to risk the enmity of either, and so he was playing both sides off against each other. It was Geoffrey of York who would be aiding the enemies of Simon de Montfort and not the prosperous merchant.

  We did not wait one moment before I paid our bill, we fetched our horses and we left Oxford, before either the merchant or a rebel spy could report that one of Lord Edward’s archers was close enough to pluck. I decided not to go back the way we had come, but to head for Northampton. I knew the land there from the battle, and we could head up towards Lincoln. We now had spare horses and so we pushed hard. We rode the captured sumpters first; if they were broken I would lose no sleep. I intended to make fifty miles in a day and would outrun any who sought us.

  We stayed that first night in the market town of Haverberg. There was method in my plan, for Haverberg was a royal manor. We would be safer there than further east in de Montfort land. The talk in the town was of the king. This was a royal manor and their livelihood depended upon him, and de Montfort’s attempts to undermine that power did not sit well with them. The mob of London might back the rebels, but the majority of Englishmen did not.

  When we left the next day, I was in a more hopeful frame of mind. The conspiracies and plots of the southern merchants and barons were an irritation, nothing more: Lord Edward and his father would prevail. I knew that my lord would be planning an escape, it was not in his nature to sit back and accept captivity.

  Our second night was spent in Newark upon Trent. This manor belonged to the Bishop of Lincoln, and he supported the king. Once more, we heard nothing but support for King Henry.

  We almost killed our horses completing the last part of our journey: sixty-three miles in one day. When we wearily walked our horses through the York city gates I was as weary as I ever had been, but we had managed to evade our pursuers.

  Even though Easingwold was just a few miles north of York, none of us could ride another mile, and so we stayed in The Saddle. With no reason to rush, we ate well, drank well and slept late. Perhaps there was a reason for that. As we had a late breakfast, some disgruntled riders came in from the south. They spoke of bands of de Montfort and de Ferrers’ men on the Great North Road, who were seeking three archers and had been less than polite in their questioning. The three of us had neither bow nor arrow about our person and we played dumb, sympathising with the travellers who had been delayed by the search of their carts. My choice of route had been justified, as had my suspicions of Ralph Widdecombe.

  When we reached Easingwold, I had much to tell Geoffrey of York. His wife had still to deliver her child, and I saw the worry on his face. I felt guilty about the news I would impart, for it would only add to his worries, but he had to know the potential danger which lay in Oxford. In the end I had no choice, for he was desperate to know what Ralph Widdecombe had said. I told him and then revealed my suspicions.

  “Then what should I do about Baron Mortimer?” The worry about his wife must have made him less confident, which explained why he sought business advice from an archer.

  I viewed the problem as a military one. “Sir, Baron Mortimer is an ally and supporter of the king. If you do not deliver the weapons to him, that may be viewed as an act of treason. I believe the king and his son will prevail. You have nothing to lose.”

  “Except for my life.” He waved a hand. “It is September now. I cannot leave my wife until the bairn is born, and I will have to stay a while to ensure that she is well. That means we would not be leaving until October or even November. The Woodhead Pass is impassable to wagons after harvest time. We would have to go further south – and that means risking Simon de Montfort.”

  I had no answer except for the obvious one. “Then you stay here with your family, and I will deliver the weapons.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “My father is right, you have more honour than many gentlemen, but I cannot allow you to take on this responsibility. We will leave when we are able. It is in God’s hands now!”


  Tom and David had told the others of our encounter and the fact there was a price upon my head. Jack of Lincoln seemed almost amused by the fact. “I thought I was the only one to have had that honour!”

  John of Nottingham snorted. “An honour?”

  “Aye, John, how many men do you know who know the value of their lives? Anyway, it is no matter. The captain is too good to be caught by his enemies, and he has us around him!”

  The attack seemed to make my company even closer. I noticed that they rarely let me move anywhere, even the village, without one of them accompanying me. I was not afraid, but I was touched by their concern.

  Geoffrey of York’s wife gave birth to a son. He was healthy and had all his parts. I knew why our master wished to stay, for many babes, more than a quarter, did not live beyond the first month. Half might not survive two years. We did not waste our time but prepared for the journey. We knew that we would be far closer to our foes and we needed to be ready. We made the six wagons we would be using both stronger and faster. We ensured that the wheels were well greased and that we had spares. I suggested to Simon the Carter that we might use a couple of extra horses to pull the wagons. Not all of them would have the same load, and it made sense to me to have more horses pulling the bigger wagons. Simon felt indebted to me and complied. I also suggested that the carters might wear protection. Even a leather jacket might stop a hunting arrow.

  It was the middle of October when we eventually left, and autumn had arrived with a vengeance. The rains delayed us by a further day as our master sought oiled canvas to cover the weapons. It would not do, to deliver rusty weapons.

  It was a miserable wet day when we set off. We would not be heading for York but for Sheffield. Having to go so close to the de Ferrers’ land, Geoffrey of York decided to profit from the danger we would be in. He intended to buy some of the knives they produced there. They were highly prized, and our master knew how to make money.

  The road was slow, and it was wet. We made our purchases and had a night in a good inn, for Sheffield was a prosperous town. We had to change a wheel when we left Sheffield and headed towards the hills that lay to the south and west. It meant that we did not stay that night in the inn at Badequelle as we intended, but we camped at the tiny hamlet of Owler Bar, which was some miles short of the larger town. Our spirits were low. We were constantly keeping an eye open for danger, and yet each day dragged like the slow wagons, which seemed reluctant to move. Once we reached Badequelle then the hard part of the journey would be over, but we would have the more dangerous section to come. For although the ground would be easier, we would be in the land of de Ferrers. His captain had put a price on my head, and that money must have come from de Ferrers. If I was caught then, unlike Lord Edward, I would not enjoy a comfortable captivity. I would be killed. My archers knew that already, but the carters only learned of it when my men’s apprehension raised questions. I saw, too, the worry on the face of Geoffrey of York. I suspect he was regretting his decision to hire us.

  The good news was that it stopped raining as we left our miserable camp at Owler Bar. We hurried to Badequelle, less than six miles away. It was a growing market town, and the bridge over the Wye meant it drew visitors from all around this part of Derbyshire. We closed with the town shortly before noon, but we had changed our plans. A wagon was damaged; changing the broken wheel meant we would push on to Chedle rather than stay in the comfortable inn in the town. It would mean a longer day, but we were all anxious to deliver our goods and get back to Easingwold. My company now regarded the small village as home.

  We were spied as we approached Badequelle, for we saw people staring at the six wagons which lumbered down the road. We did not ride with our bows on our saddles, they were in the wagons, but we all wore the hood and cap of an archer. As we stopped in the main square to water our horses, I heard hooves galloping away – I knew it meant trouble but I did not worry the master. Instead, I went around my archers and warned each of them. We all took our bows from the carts and strung them, filled our arrow sacks and took a few spare arrows for our belts.

  Tom would continue to be the scout who rode ahead, but I told John and Jack to hang back at least 200 paces from the last wagon. I had Peter close to the leading wagon. If we were to be ambushed, I wanted us spread out as much as possible. If we had been men at arms then the opposite was true, but we were archers, and my arrangement meant we could slow down any who attacked us. Geoffrey of York stopped only long enough to buy fresh bread and some of the local cheese.

  We were a mile out of Badequelle when he noticed my new arrangement. “Is there a problem, Gerald?”

  I would not lie to him. “There may be. I heard the hooves of a horse leaving as we entered the town. It might well be a coincidence in which case we have lost nothing, but if, as I fear, it means that word has been sent to de Ferrers at Derby, then we may find hunters seeking us. You asked us to guard your wagons because this road is dangerous. The weather has helped us, but we may find an enemy comes to stop us. We will watch ahead, behind and to the side. This land helps us for it is more open and less wooded than an ambusher might like.”

  The clearer skies aided our ability to see, and as we approached Chedle we saw not an ambush but a column of men, heading from the east. My eyes were sharp and I recognised the de Ferrers’ livery. Chedle lay less than a mile ahead. “Master, whip your horses and get to Chedle. There you will be safe.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Why, fight them of course! They are my enemies and the enemies of the king. Archers! To me!”

  I dismounted as the carters whipped their horses and raced for the safety of the town. The enemy horsemen began to gallop. I was gambling that they would not only want to capture me but the wagons and whatever they were carrying, too. “This time we do not wait to be attacked. Aim for their horses when they are in range. Peter, hold the horses.”

  His voice showed his fear. “Aye, Captain.” But he grabbed our reins and bravely stood close behind us.

  I counted twenty men in the column. The thin sunlight shone from helmets and spears, but we would not know if they were mailed or not until they were much closer. The road they travelled joined our road less than half a mile to the south of us. I saw the wagons nearing the town, and that decided the horsemen. They left the road and galloped across a field of winter barley; they wanted the archers more than the wagons. That would help us, for it would slow them, and they would not be able to strike us as a line.

  I nocked a war arrow, as I intended to hit a horse. A horse was a bigger target and had no protection. If a horse was hit then the rider was, effectively, out of the combat; a fall might even disable him. I drew. This was my most powerful bow, and few men could draw it as well as I did. I released then nocked a second war arrow. Even as the first one hit a horse, my second was in the air.

  The others began to rain arrows down, and that spurred on de Ferrers’ men. They began to spread out, and I nocked a long needle bodkin. I had spied that the leaders and the four warriors at the fore all wore mail. They were now less than a hundred paces from us. They outnumbered us, but we did not panic. We had hit ten of them or their horses, and we had yet to suffer a wound.

  I saw six horseless men, and a couple of those had been hurt by their falls. There were still ten mounted. My needle bodkin struck the leading rider. He tumbled from his saddle. A second mailed warrior also fell. I saw that the riders without mail slowed up. When Jack of Lincoln hit a third mailed warrior, they decided that was enough and they fled. Two horses were hit as they did so.

  I ran towards the nearest men at arms. One was still alive; Jack of Lincoln’s arrow had hit him in the gut. It was a mortal wound – stomach wounds always were. I took his helmet from him. Blood was trickling from his mouth.

  He shook his head. “Bastard archers! You cannot fight like men!”

  “And why cannot Henry Sharp Sword fight his own battles? Does he always have to send men after me? Let him come, and we can
end this blood feud.”

  The man laughed and it was a mistake, for it hurt him. “It is not just the captain. The earl wishes you dead. It is his bounty! Fear not, archer, he is close… he…”

  His eyes glazed over and he died, but his words made me stand and stare east. These men had been sent to slow us. The ones who had fled would return to the captain, and the next time he would be more circumspect. We put the wounded horses out of their misery and took the mail, weapons and coins.

  As we headed to Chedle I said, “Sleep with one eye open this night, men, for this is not over!”

  Chapter 8

  The carters and Geoffrey of York waited anxiously for us in the market square. “Well?”

  “They are gone and we lost not a man, but they will return.”

  Geoffrey of York nodded. “How much further do we have to travel to be safe from them?”

  “It is forty miles until we are beyond their reach.”

  I saw his shoulders slump. “Then that is two days of travelling and, even if we make it, we still have the journey home.”

  “If we make Wigmore Castle then we can take the Woodhead Pass home. Empty wagons might be able to make it.”

  He nodded. “I have rooms at an inn, but we will need to have men watching the wagons.”

  “My men and I will sleep in the wagons.”

  “My carters can—”

  “Your carters are not warriors. We are. You pay us for this, and we will earn our money.” I did not tell him that the wagons would be easier to defend than the inn, nor that I wished him and his carters safe. If there was to be a knife in the night then it would be my company who would bear the danger. “Take Peter into the inn with you.”

  Geoffrey nodded. “You are a good man, and there are precious few like you. Come, Peter.”

  “I would rather stay here with the rest of the company.”

  Will Yew Tree said, “Now then. What is this? Dissension? An archer obeys his captain. This is another lesson for you.”