by Robyn Young
Robert, undeterred by the sudden change of enemy, had been placed in the king’s division with the three knights and five squires he had raised from the Essex estate, and his Scottish entourage. To his satisfaction, neither Aymer de Valence nor John Comyn was present. William de Valence, veteran of many of Edward’s campaigns, was heading the division from Cardiff and his son had gone with him. John Comyn meanwhile had been ordered to serve in France, along with a number of Scottish nobles. On the journey from Westminster, Robert’s brother had gleefully imagined various fates the young knight might meet on hostile, foreign fields.
At Chester, the king’s company, made up of more than six hundred lances, had been augmented by throngs of milling foot soldiers from Shropshire and Gloucestershire. They were followed by seventy skilled crossbowmen and a mass of infantry from Lancashire, led by a pompous, grossly fat royal clerk named Hugh de Cressingham, who had been forced to change horses three times already, each tiring under his weight. From here, the head of this force, several thousand strong, had crossed the border into Wales, the mass of men channelled into a long line that crept, slow and dark as a slick of oil, through the landscape.
The company was split into smaller contingents, who all moved at different paces and had since spread out along the route. Robert and his men had been placed under the joint command of John de Warenne and the Earl of Lincoln, who saw the first action of the campaign when the Welsh in his district at Denbigh had risen, forcing him to flee into England. Henry Percy was also in this company, along with Humphrey de Bohun. Robert had been surprised by this since Humphrey’s father was in the south leading the advance from Brecon, but on the march Humphrey had confided that his father and the king wanted him to prove himself on this campaign.
Hearing the haughty tones of Henry Percy ahead, Robert saw the lord manoeuvring his horse in beside Humphrey.
‘My grandfather is going to order a rest. The terrain gets harder further on.’
Pulling up Hunter’s head, Robert nudged the horse into a faster walk, leaving his brother frowning after him. The knights looked round from their conversation as he came up alongside.
‘We’re stopping at the top of this hill,’ Humphrey told him, nodding to the path through the trees that climbed steadily upwards.
‘Did you say the way gets harder?’
‘According to my grandfather,’ answered Henry.
Humphrey gestured to Hunter. ‘How is he faring?’
‘I think he’s good for a couple of hours.’ As Robert rubbed the horse’s neck, he noticed Henry look away, his chilly blue eyes showing a lack of interest. Doubtless he cared nothing for the horse now he’d been paid the ten pounds Edward had owed him for the wager. Robert was still annoyed with his brother for that. Edward’s audacity had amused him when they were children, but here it just felt reckless and unnecessary.
The ground ascended, their horses pushing into the climb. Gnarled oaks gave way to birch and ash.
‘At this rate we’ll reach Conwy by the Christ Mass,’ said Humphrey, settling back into his saddle and sniffing at the wintry air.
‘And, God willing, be back in Westminster with the crown by Easter,’ added Henry with a hostile smile.
Humphrey gave him a look, but the lord didn’t seem to notice.
‘King Edward hopes to find this crown in the possession of the rebels?’ Robert asked, keeping his voice light to disguise his interest. ‘Is it valuable?’
Ahead, men’s voices lifted as the vanguard reached the crest of the hill.
‘Time for a rest,’ said Humphrey.
Robert bit back the urge to press his friend further. On the journey through the endless woods there had been much opportunity for talk and on several occasions he’d heard the Crown of Arthur mentioned. He had asked Humphrey about this crown, but the knight had guided the conversation, politely yet firmly, in other directions. It had made Robert think back to that private gathering in King Henry’s former apartments the night of the feast, months ago. He’d had a sense then of some bond between these men, beyond their status and wealth, something he guessed not all the young nobles in Edward’s court were privy to – something to do with those dragon shields, which he hadn’t seen since the tournament. The crown had lingered in his mind, hinting at a greater meaning behind the hasty December campaign. His father had spoken in slurred, broken sentences of his service in Wales in winter: the blizzards and the brutal cold that could kill a man at night, wolves gathering after a battle, slinking in before the victors had gone, teeth tearing at warm flesh before it froze. This seemed to be more than just a rebellion to be put down, rather something personal to the king and his knights that would make them risk such conditions. Something that had rendered the older men silent and pensive, and their sons restless and eager.
Hearing murmurs of surprise from up ahead, Robert turned from Humphrey to see the cause. Before them the hill dropped away, plunging into a valley where the trees became an impenetrable cloud of cover, bare boughs of ash and willow interspersed with thick yew, holly and towering pines. It looked to Robert like the Forest of Selkirk, the dark vastness of which stretched from the Scottish Borders to Carrick in the west and Edinburgh in the east. To either side of the valley hills rose in waves, the tree-cover marching almost to the top, where it gave way to ridges of slate. The sight of the dense forest fading into green haze was breathtaking enough, but even more striking was the wide path that had been hacked right through it. It was a dead, grey scar that slashed across the vista, following the contours of the land, its desolation starkly at odds with the verdant woods that bordered it on both sides. Robert had heard his father mention the enormous number of woodcutters and carters the king had employed during the conquest of Wales to clear paths through the impassable forest that covered most of the kingdom of Gwynedd. Here, stretching before him into the far distance, was the evidence of that great labour.
‘Perhaps not by Easter,’ muttered Henry, his eyes narrowing at the horizon.
The men dismounted, spreading out among the trees on the hilltop to give those behind room to arrive. Servants unpacked food and drink for the knights, while grooms saw to horses, tightening girths and adjusting saddlecloths. Leaving Hunter in Nes’s care and his steward to divide the rations among his men, Robert stretched his legs and downed a cup of beer. Close by, he saw John de Warenne and the Earl of Lincoln talking intently with two men, whose gambesons were partitioned in yellow and red. As Robert noticed a line of gold crosses embroidered on their chests, his interest was piqued. The men were wearing the colours of the Earl of Warwick, whose company had set out from Chester ahead of Warenne’s. In that company were Warwick’s wife and sons, and his daughter, Helena.
It was not unheard of for the most high-ranking to bring family with them, no one knowing how long a campaign might last. The magnates only owed Edward forty days’ service, but new contracts were usually drawn up after that period and no baron would abandon his king lightly in the middle of a war, whatever his rights. The women and children would be barracked in Conwy with the cooks, tailors, physicians and priests. Other camp followers, uninvited by anyone yet welcomed by many, included pardoners, minstrels and whores, to whom the army was a moving train of money.
John de Warenne paused in his discussion and looked round. Seeing his grandson, he beckoned him over, along with Robert and Humphrey.
‘What is it, sir?’ Henry asked, as the three approached.
‘Warwick’s rearguard saw smoke in the woods ahead. Their company was too far ahead to turn back and investigate, so his scouts waited for us. I want you to take a look, Henry.’ Warenne nodded to Humphrey and Robert. ‘Go with him. It’s probably just poachers or brigands. But we aren’t many miles from Denbigh, where Lincoln was attacked.’
The Earl of Lincoln nodded soberly. ‘I lost many men to the rebels. They were a large force, mostly armed with spears, but some had use of the short bow.’
‘We should be grateful for that mercy at least,’ mutte
red Warenne. ‘Pembroke is facing the men of Gwent and their longbows. Christ knows there is no weapon more deadly.’ He turned back to his grandson. ‘Report back to me what you find, Henry. If the enemy is here we will engage them. We do not want our way home barred.’
After listening to Warwick’s scouts describing where they had seen the smoke the three headed back to their men. Edward grumbled as Robert explained the mission, but he swallowed his drink and swung up into his saddle with the three knights and eleven squires that formed Robert’s fighting force. Nes unfurled Robert’s banner as the parties, made up of forty-eight men, walked their horses through the groups of soldiers to join the woodcutters’ path that cut a grey swathe down into the tree-tangled valley.
28
The winter sun was stark in their eyes as they made their way down the cleared route, three banners snapping in the breeze. Henry Percy’s blue lion on gold was at the front, followed by Humphrey’s blue flag slashed with white between six gold lions, then Robert’s red chevron on white. Robert kept Hunter’s reins long, allowing the horse to check for stumps and roots, but the way was relatively easy to negotiate, the path recently flattened by hundreds of feet and hooves. Even though he was tired from the morning’s ride, he felt a sense of relief in the change of pace, the smaller group able to move more swiftly alone than in the train, weighed down by carts and infantry. Glancing at Humphrey, who grinned back, he saw the same lift in the others’ spirits. Until now, he hadn’t realised now listless they had all become in the drudgery of the march.
After a couple of miles, where the ground levelled out along the valley floor, the company came to a track leading off between the trees to either side of the cleared path. There was a scrap of red and yellow cloth fluttering from a branch, left there by Warwick’s scouts to mark the way.
‘This is it.’ Humphrey craned his head to stare up at the rising tree line. ‘They said they saw the smoke beyond this hill.’
‘It must lead to a hamlet,’ said Henry, peering at the track. ‘It looks old.’
‘But not well used,’ added Robert, eyeing the carpet of brown bracken. The track was wide enough for only one horse and branches overhung it, treacherously low.
Henry gestured to two of his knights. ‘Take the van.’
The men left the cleared path and rode single file into the gloom, ducking branches, cobwebs trailing against their faces. The ground rose sharply and birds chattered in the press of trees, angry at the intrusion. The men were disturbed by constant movement, from the rustle of a bush to flickers of red glimpsed faint and far off as deer flitted away through the trees. The branches crowded in, obscuring the sky and turning day to green twilight. If there was anyone in these trees it was doubtful they would be able to see them in the crush of foliage. They were disoriented, no longer knowing in which direction they were headed, only that the hill was still climbing torturously before them and they were desperate for sky and light. They soon got their wish. As they reached the top the trees gradually thinned out and the track widened, giving the knights room to ride two abreast at a steady trot, the mossy ground deadening the hoof-beats.
Robert was near the front with Humphrey when one of Henry’s men hissed a warning. Bringing his horse to a halt, Robert saw the knight pointing through the trees to where two large shapes were strung from the branches of an oak. They were deer, their long necks hanging limp. Their stomach cavities were empty, lips of liver-coloured flesh ribbed with yellow fat sagging open to either side. There was a rancid odour of blood on the air.
‘Perhaps we should continue on foot?’ said Robert. His relief at the freedom offered by the ride had vanished with the sight of the deer. He could feel the shift in the others, some of whom had their hands on the hilts of their swords, their faces tense.
‘No,’ Henry said. ‘Those kills could be anyone’s. I don’t want to waste time trudging through this forest over a couple of poachers. We’ll continue for another mile then make our way back. The smoke couldn’t have been coming from much further, not for the scouts to have seen it.’ Without waiting for them to respond, Henry urged his horse on, followed by his men.
They had been going for only a short while when they smelled it: the subtle tang of wood-smoke. In the distance between the maze of trees the woods opened out on to a bare slope of hillside, amber in the late afternoon sun. In the centre of the cleared area were the remains of a settlement. Crumbled piles of stone and splintered timbers, some still retaining the vague shape of a wall or doorway, protruded from the ground. Dry fronds of bracken half hid other structures, covering the evidence of human occupation in a papery shroud of orange and brown. It would have seemed that no one had lived here for decades, if not for the obvious signs of life. In the centre of the dilapidated buildings a fire snapped and spat in a large pit, a plume of grey smoke drifting into the sky. Temporary shelters made of twigs and grass leaned up against the tumbled shells of the buildings, dark bolt-holes with room enough for several men in each. Some way beyond the settlement, the woods closed in again, disappearing into another dense valley of leaves and shadows.
The knights formed up in silence, many fixed on the camp through the trees, others glancing warily into the sun-dappled shade around them.
‘I can’t see anyone,’ Humphrey murmured.
‘Neither can I, but that fire has only recently been stoked. They can’t have gone far.’ Henry lifted his reins as if to impel his horse forward, but Humphrey stopped him.
‘What are you doing?’
‘We need to get a closer look.’
‘Most likely, from the size of that camp, this is the company that attacked the Earl of Lincoln. We need to let Sir John know, before we’re seen.’
‘Why waste another hour when we can deal with these churls now? It’ll be dark before we can get any more men up here and if we leave it until morning they might have gone.’
‘It looks like they’ve been here for some while,’ said Robert, moving in alongside Humphrey. ‘I doubt they’ll be going anywhere.’
Henry glanced at him irritably. ‘You don’t know that.’ He focused on Humphrey, speaking intently. ‘You wanted to prove yourself on this campaign. Well, this is your chance. Our chance. Our fathers and grandfathers won glory under King Edward. We need to show them we are worthy to take their places. That we are able successors.’ His tone intensified. ‘You know what it is he aims for, Humphrey. Don’t you want a place at the king’s table when the prophecy is fulfilled? Don’t you want a part of his new kingdom?’
‘Careful,’ murmured Humphrey, his eyes flicking to the others.
As the knight caught his gaze, Robert’s brow knotted in question, but Humphrey didn’t speak.
Henry continued, adamant. ‘You’re wasting a chance, perhaps the only one either of us will get on this campaign.’
‘The Earl of Lincoln said the group that attacked him was a hundred strong at least. If this is that force they outnumber us two to one.’
‘Lincoln let himself get caught by surprise. We have the advantage here.’
Humphrey looked away, seeming to wrestle with the options. Finally, his eyes narrowed and he drew his sword.
Henry smiled, his blue eyes glinting in the sunlight. ‘Let’s deal with these vermin,’ he growled, urging his horse forward.
‘Humphrey,’ called Robert, as the knight moved to follow. He stared at his comrade. ‘These weren’t our orders.’
Humphrey’s face tightened. ‘We go in,’ he said, digging his spurs into his destrier’s sides.
Robert looked behind him to his waiting men. Edward was frowning in question. The younger squires, including Nes, appeared nervous, their swords already drawn. How would it look if he refused to lead them into this: if Henry and Humphrey returned to Warenne triumphant, having dealt with the rebels, while he cowered in the trees? If this was a chance for them to prove their worth to their king, then for him it was an opportunity to prove himself to them. So far these young men, heirs to the earldoms
of England, had kept him at a distance, even Humphrey, but he had seen the power and influence they wielded and he desired it for himself. His father and grandfather had served English kings in war and had been rewarded with lands. He had come to England to recover the authority they had lost upon Balliol’s enthronement, but, so far, rather than advance his family’s ailing fortunes he’d done little more than spend them.
Nodding for his brother and his men to follow, Robert kicked at Hunter’s sides.
Henry hadn’t paused at the tree line, but had ridden brazenly out on to the sunlit hillside, cantering towards the settlement. Any element of surprise they might have had was gone and the others followed, drawing swords. Henry rode in through the rows of shelters and heaps of stones, Humphrey and Robert behind him. The large fire glowed in the centre of the camp, throwing out waves of heat. The knights spread out around the settlement to the crackle of the flames. The ground was covered with piles of dry bracken that had been hacked from the hillside and strewn around the camp. There were a few logs placed by the fire pit, perhaps for seats, and charred animal bones littered the ring of ashes. A couple of spears had been dug into the mud a short distance beyond the shelters and some barrels and battered-looking crates were stacked up close by. Other than that, the place seemed abandoned.
Henry steered his horse to one of the shelters and slashed through the flimsy roof of woven twigs with his sword. It buckled in a shower of bracken and leaves. Inside, a shabby deer skin carpeted the bare earth. Bending down, he poked his sword tip into a filthy, ragged cloak bundled on the skin and raised it to dangle on the blade, before flicking it free with a scowl.
Humphrey dismounted and went to the fire. There were a couple of wooden bowls littering the grass and a huge iron pot on a tree stump. Crouching, he picked up one of the bowls and sniffed at it. He tossed it aside with a grimace. ‘They must have heard us coming,’ he said, rising and looking at Henry. ‘Robert was right. We should have continued on foot when we saw the deer.’
