by Wayne Grant
The guard, paying no attention to the hubbub in the bailey, guided them up a narrow ramp to the only opening through the oddly-shaped inner curtain wall. They emerged into a small inner bailey and climbed two flights of stone steps that led up to the entrance of the keep. Here their guide turned them over to a new set of guards who had them drop their weapons in an antechamber. They were then led into a bare hallway and told to wait.
Left alone, Declan gave a low whistle.
“I don’t think God himself could take this place,” he muttered, reflecting on all they’d seen in their passage through the Château’s defences.
Roland shook his head.
“It’s a marvel to be sure,” he said, “but no place is impossible to take.”
Declan was about to argue the point, when two massive doors at the end of the hall swung open and a page beckoned them forward. It was time to face the King.
***
The receiving hall of Château Gaillard was nearly empty of furnishings or ornamentation, reflecting, as did the stacks of timber and stone in the outer bailey, that the King’s great project was not yet complete. Some rough benches were set along the walls and a rather simple wooden chair sat atop a low dais where someday a more elaborate throne might be placed.
At the far end of the hall three men stood bent over a makeshift table peering at a document. Richard I, King of England, appeared to be explaining some of the finer points of the castle construction to William, Earl of Pembroke, and Ranulf, Earl of Chester. None of them looked up as the two young knights made the long walk across the hall. In the near empty space, their footsteps echoed off the walls and ceiling. They halted a respectful distance from the conferring men and waited.
“How hard is this limestone beneath the foundations?” asked William Marshall. “Can their sappers undermine the walls?”
“Well, limestone isn’t granite, I’ll admit, but it’s not just dirt either,” the King replied. “It can be mined, but they’d have to cross a lot of open ground to begin their dig and that would get a lot of their sappers killed. And note this, William. I never intend to have a besieging force get near this place. I’ve chosen this site for offense, not defence. It will be a secure base for harrying the French in the Vexin and the key to retaking Gisors!”
Marshall nodded. Of all the losses suffered at the hands of Philip of France during the King’s captivity, the loss of Gisors, the mighty fortress on the border between the French and Norman regions of the Vexin had been the most painful. He knew Richard would not rest until he had it back.
“I’ve heard Philip is put out over this new thorn in his side,” offered Earl Ranulf. “He’s been heard to boast he would take Gaillard even if its walls were of steel!”
Richard snorted at that.
“Philip? Why, against Philip, I would hold this place even if the walls were of butter!”
The two Earls smiled at each other. Philip’s bold declaration had been spread far and wide. Richard’s own troops had heard of the French king’s challenge. Now here was a fitting riposte from their own sovereign. The two nobles would be sure to let their men know of Richard’s response, which they knew would soon be spread to all the English forces fighting in France. Such a thing might seem a trifle, but both knew it would be good for morale.
Just then, Richard looked up from the plans on the table and saw the two young knights standing and waiting nervously for their audience. He glared at them.
“So, here stand the mutineers!” he growled, as he stepped around the table and looked the two young knights over.
“Sir William says he had to pay a pretty penny to save yer necks from getting stretched,” he said, as he looked from Roland to Declan and back again. “You, Inness—you commanded my Invalid Company. I want an explanation for this foolishness. What happened at Gamaches?”
Roland had spent much of the night thinking of what he would tell the King, but having the man glowering at him did not make the words come easily.
“Your Grace, the Invalids were ordered to man the siege tower and assault the wall while General Mercadier’s men attacked a new breach. The men performed bravely—as they always do. They fought their way onto the parapet and forced the French to fall back. They opened the main gate of the city to let in the rest of Mercadier’s men.”
The King scowled
“That version of events does not match the official report I received from General Mercadier, Inness.”
“Then the official report is wrong, your grace.”
The King rubbed his chin. In the general’s report there had hardly been a mention of the Invalids’ role in the taking of Gamaches, only their subsequent mutiny, but he’d received another report from his spy on Mercadier’s staff that more closely matched Sir Roland’s version of events than Mercadier’s.
“Go on, then.”
“Once the gate was opened, we pursued the defenders of the wall into the town. The French found the door to the keep barred against them and retreated into a side street where the Invalids cornered them at a small chapel. Meanwhile, General Mercadier’s men attacked the keep, breaking down the door with a ram. The defenders there surrendered and were disarmed. Once they’d laid down their weapons, the order was given to slaughter them.”
Roland studied Richard’s face but could read nothing there. The news that unarmed prisoners had been butchered did not seem to faze the monarch. Then a cold thought struck him. It had been Richard who’d ordered the execution of over a thousand prisoners at Acre when he’d left that city to march on Jerusalem. Such a man would not likely be troubled by the killing of a few dozen Frenchmen. Roland gathered himself and continued.
“By that time, the small group of French we’d cornered at the chapel had surrendered to me. They laid down their weapons and delivered themselves into our hands. I took their parole and sent them on their way.”
“And why would you do that, Sir Roland? I’m led to believe that Mercadier ordered no prisoners taken.”
“That order was never given me, your grace. Nor did I know of it.”
“But you did witness the killing of the French prisoners from the keep.”
“Aye, lord.”
“Then you must have known that this was General Mercadier’s intention.”
“Aye, your grace, I knew it,” he admitted. “But I do not kill unarmed prisoners. The oath you bound us to that day in Acre when you made us knights—it pledged us to be merciful to the helpless. Those Frenchmen had fought honourably. They’d given up their arms to us and were helpless. I could not let them be butchered like their comrades in the keep. Paroling them was the only course I could take without breaking my oath.”
The King arched an eyebrow at that.
“The knight’s oath. It’s a clever defence, Sir Roland, and you might even mean it!” he said with a frown, then he turned to Declan.
“Is this what you saw at Gamaches, O’Duinne?”
“Aye, your grace. Exactly so.”
“And when your friend Inness was arrested, you were left in command. Did you order the Invalid Company to mutiny?”
“I did not, your grace,” Declan answered evenly.
“Then how did you run afoul of General Mercadier?”
“Well, your grace, I might have…threatened him a bit, should he let any harm come to Sir Roland.”
Richard shook his head and looked over at Ranulf and Marshall.
“Aren’t these a prize pair? One has an excess of scruples and the other’s a hothead,” he said, then turned back to Roland and Declan.
“I am aware that some find General Mercadier’s methods unsavoury,” he said glancing back at Ranulf and Marshall, “but he wins me battles and for that I give him leave to use what methods he pleases. But you two—you honourable young gentlemen—have put me in a bad position!”
He turned back to Ranulf and Marshall.
“What am I to do with these two?”
Neither man answered, recognizing that the King didn’
t expect them to. Richard swung back around and his face softened, just a bit.
“I am not unaware of the service you men rendered me during my captivity. I also recall you both learned the soldier’s trade from Sir Roger de Laval, another knight who takes his honour too seriously. So, for your past service and out of affection for Sir Roger, I will not have you hanged, though General Mercadier insists I must!”
“I’ve ordered that the Invalid Company be stripped of its black wolf’s head banner. Mutineers do not deserve such heraldry. As for you two,” he growled, fixing them both with an icy stare, “you are both relieved of command, as is a Sir Thomas Marston, who took command when you were both arrested and allowed the mutiny to take place. Henceforth, you will all serve as common soldiers. For past services, I allow you to retain your titles, but do not cross me again. I made you knights and I can as easily unmake you! Now get out of my sight!”
Roland and Declan needed no urging. They turned on their heels and hurried from the hall. When they were out of sight, the King turned to Ranulf and Marshall.
“God protect me from honourable men!” he exclaimed, then he turned on his two barons with a cold look.
“I cannot have mutiny in my army, my lords.”
“Of course not, your grace,” Ranulf agreed, “but consider this. Most men mutiny to kill their commanders, while the Invalids mutinied to save theirs. Unusual, don’t you think?”
“And I’d remind your grace,” Marshall put in, “that at Towcester, when your crown was at stake, it was Inness and the Invalids who held the centre of the line.”
“Yes, yes,” Richard said, waving his hand toward the two noblemen as though shooing away buzzing flies. “I know all this!”
“So what now, your grace?” Ranulf asked. “You can’t send the Invalids back to Mercadier.”
“Of course not, Ranulf. Gamaches has fallen, so Mercadier has no further use for them at present. And he’d not want them back in any event.”
The King paused for a moment, looking from the Earl of Chester to the Earl of Pembroke.
“I’m assigning them to garrison duty here at Les Andelys.”
“Garrison duty for the Invalid Company, your grace?” Marshall asked, incredulous. “Whatever their past sins, they’re the best fighters we have!”
“That’s as may be, William, but I cannot let Mercadier’s charges go wholly unpunished, so it’s garrison duty and labour detail as well. Perhaps a month or so wielding picks and shovels will make them less likely to mutiny in future!!”
***
“Garrison duty?”
Declan stopped brushing his chestnut mare at the news. They had waited through the long afternoon to hear the King’s final verdict on the events at Gamaches, but this was an unexpected result.
“Aye,” Roland said, “and labour detail. Sir John says the King is now recovered from his wounds and will rejoin the army at Neufchatel. He’s taking the current garrison troops with him, save a score or so that his castellan wishes to keep. He’s leaving us to guard Les Andelys and to provide manual labour to speed construction on the castle.”
“How is Sir John taking his new duties?” Declan asked. The one-armed swordsman had been next in line to command after Tom Marston.
“Not well, I gather, nor are the men. Patch says it’s not so much the duty they resent as the loss of their banner. They’ve taken that very personally.”
Declan nodded.
“So have I.”
“Some good men died under that banner,” Roland agreed.
The Irish knight gave the mare a final brush and patted the horse’s rump.
“Well, at least we didn’t hang,” he said.
“They shouldn’t have mutinied,” Roland said flatly.
“And let Mercadier execute you? Not a chance.”
“They’d still have their banner and their honour.”
Declan threw down his brush in disgust and stuck a finger in Roland’s chest.
“They’d have the one maybe, but not the other,” he snapped. “They may love their wolf’s head flag and their well-earned reputation, but not one among them would trade you for a piece of cloth or any man’s good opinion—including the King’s!”
“No…” Roland started to protest.
“Yes! I know you can’t see it, nor can the King, but I can, and so can the men.”
Declan drew back his finger and draped an arm around his friend’s shoulders.
“Look, we are nothing more than common soldiers now, fit only for manual labour and guard duty. I say we go find some ale!”
Roland shrugged.
“Why not?”
Ranulf’s Man
Roland found a spot in the rear rank as the Invalid Company assembled at dawn in the main square of Les Andelys. His mouth was dry and his head pounded, the price of too much wine the night before. He glanced over as Declan shuffled in beside him and could see from his friend’s sour look and bloodshot eyes that he was no better off.
Looking down the ranks, other men appeared to be in similar or worse straits. Roland wasn’t surprised at their appearance. He and Declan had found the only tavern in town jammed with their men the night before and the mood in the place was surly The Invalids had been shamed by the King of England and their banner taken from them. They were angry and the free flow of ale quickly turned tempers ugly. As fights began to break out, the two knights purchased a skin of wine and retired to the barracks to drink alone.
Now, in the dim light of dawn the Invalids staggered into ranks, half sick from drink, sporting fresh bruises, split lips and swollen eyes. Many cast awkward glances toward Roland and Declan, embarrassed perhaps to see their long-time leaders lining up with the rest to be counted.
With Roland, Declan and Patch all relieved of command, leadership of the Invalid Company had fallen to Sir John Blackthorne. As he began to call the roll, a trumpet sounded from the ramparts of Château Gaillard high above them. Down the switchback road came King Richard riding his magnificent roan charger with Earl William close by his side. Following them into the town was a long column of riders.
“The old garrison,” whispered Declan, as the column made its way through the east gate of Les Andelys and into the town.
When the riders reached the main square, the King did not slacken the pace, passing by with not so much as a nod toward the assembled Invalids. The column rode out through the west gate leaving nothing behind but the echo of their passing and a cloud of dust hanging in the air. As Sir John resumed his head count, Roland felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Brother Cyril looking gravely up at him.
“It’s the Earl, my lord. He wishes to speak to you,” he said solemnly and pointed toward a covered portico that fronted the square. In the shade of the overhang, Earl Ranulf stood casually gnawing on an apple for his breakfast. Roland sighed. He’d not spoken directly to Ranulf since before the Earl left Chester for France and had only seen his liege lord once, as he was being chastised by the King and relieved of command. Now there was no avoiding it. Roland trudged across the square to where the Earl stood, still working on his apple.
“Sir Roland, come walk with me,” he said as he tossed the apple core aside and turned down the street that led to the river gate of Les Andelys. For a while they walked in awkward silence until Roland spoke up.
“My lord,” he began, “what happened at Gamaches…I know I failed you there. I lost control of the Invalids, which almost led to disaster.”
Ranulf slowed his steps, turning to look at the young knight as they walked.
“The King has rendered his decision on your actions at Gamaches, Sir Roland, and not without hearing from Earl Marshall and myself. We spoke rather forcefully on your behalf, fearing he might actually hang the three of you to placate that bastard Mercadier. He values the man that highly. So consider yourself and your friends lucky to still be alive and at liberty. It very well might have gone the other way. Still, you’ve annoyed the King and made a powerful enemy in
Mercadier—not very clever of you.”
“My lord,…I’ve never counted myself as clever, but I did learn this at Gamaches. I am ill-suited to this kind of war, where villages are burned to the ground and prisoners are slaughtered.”
Ranulf nodded slowly.
“So am I, Sir Roland,” he said bluntly. “Mercadier is a brilliant general and perfectly suited for this butcher shop of a war because he’s a dung heap of a man. And while our King appreciates honour in those who serve him, he does not require it, as long as they help him beat the French. I half expect that Richard or Philip will one day rule over nothing more than a mound of skulls and a field of ashes in the end.”
Ranulf stopped and turned to his young oath man.
“The King suspects the French are planning to strike somewhere in the north and soon. I’ve promised to join him at Neufchatel tomorrow, but understand this, Sir Roland. I intend to get us back to Chester to tend to our own affairs at the first opportunity. For now, the King requires us in France, so here we must stay. It is our duty, however unpleasant.”
Roland nodded. Duty was a thing he understood well. The Earl turned and resumed their walk down toward the river, not speaking for a long time. As they passed through the river gate and onto the wooden bridge that spanned the Seine, he stopped and looked up river. Only ten miles to the east lay the domain of Philip of France, the implacable enemy of the English. He turned back to face his young knight.
“Tell me, Roland, if you could go back to the day you led your men over the wall at Gamaches, would you do anything differently?”
Roland had not expected such a question from the Earl, though it was one he had asked himself many times in the days since the fall of the French fortress. He had always come round to the same answer—the one thing that nagged at him.
“We lost five dead and twice that wounded in the attack, my lord, all good men. It could have been much worse and for that I am thankful, but one death troubled me for some reason. John Brumley was his name. He was the youngest man in the Company, just seventeen years old. If I could do it again, I’d put that lad in the rear rank where that crossbow bolt wouldn’t find him.”
