by Tony Roberts
“Now, Will, you say you’re a climber,” Casca said softly. “Get up there and tie this rope to something solid. I’ll be up the moment you’ve done that – I don’t want to waste any time.”
“That roof isn’t a problem,” Will said, observing it, the lead guttering and roofing a dull grey color, “but getting up onto it is going to be hard.”
Casca pointed to a stone ledge, made for decorative purposes, running three feet below the lip of the roof. “If you can get onto that, the rest will be no trouble.”
Walt uncoiled the rope. “Use the gargoyle,” he nodded at a stone drainage spout shaped like a mythical beast. “I’ll chuck the rope over that.” He was as good as his word. The rope sailed up and over, and dropped down the other side. Casca grabbed the loose end and Will took the other from Walt. The young man began hauling himself up, his archer arms and shoulders giving him the impetus and strength to make short work of it. Once on the roof, he pulled the end of the rope he’d been using up and Casca paid out his end as the archer reached the base of the tower and used a few cracks in the stonework to wedge his feet and fingers in to climb up to the bell window. He leaned in, found an iron crossbar and tied the rope to it. He came back down and landed lightly on his feet. “That’s done it – easy.”
Casca clapped him on the shoulder. “You two stay out of sight; if anything goes wrong I don’t want you two caught up in it, understand?”
“Sure. You’re mad, taking on the Church, Cass,” Walt said soberly.
“It’s not the Church, its one particular individual I’m after.”
“Try telling that to any other cleric and they won’t believe you.”
Casca grinned. “True. Wish me luck.”
The two grunted and drifted into the undergrowth like wraiths, leaving Casca to haul himself up, not without difficulty, onto the roof, then up the tower. The gap from the tower to the roof of the building Pip had been taken to was about ten feet away and about ten feet below. He pulled the rope up and gingerly made his way round to the side the building was and now peered down at the roof.
It was sloped and two skylight windows jutted out from the roof, facing the church. That was his way in. It was a risky jump but there was no other way in. Gauging the length of rope required to safely reach the opposite side, he tied the rope to his waist and reached the edge of the church roof, breathing in deeply.
The gap looked bigger than he had first thought. The apex of the skylight was maybe seven feet below him and ten feet across. It would take a huge leap to get there, and it would hurt, he was in no doubt of that. “Ah, shit, best to get on with it,” he muttered to himself. Tightening his belt and making sure his sword was secured safely, he crouched on the lip of the roof, took in two deep breaths, and leaped.
CHAPTER NINE
Pip stood in the house, scared. The priest, Father Richard, had been kindly and protective, referring to her as a blessed child constantly. Pip had no idea as to what the priest was talking about. She had certainly not been blessed in the slightest; she hadn’t even gone to a church in her life. Being part of a poor family in a port, nobody was interested in them, and even less so once her parents had died. She had no money, so the church wasn’t concerned with her.
She had a fear of priests, fear that they did, indeed, have some sort of divine power or privilege, and the command they held over the people made them powerful people indeed, threatening the fearful populace with excommunication or some terrible consequence of their godlessness in order to hold sway over everyone, kings included. Life was so hard and unpleasant that it did seem a good thing to believe in heaven after one died, for what was the point of enduring all this if there was no heaven?
All the same, she was wary of the priest. His attendants were silent and obedient, and followed his wishes precisely the minute he commanded it. Like most priests, he smiled a lot – too much in fact. Pip had learned to distrust people who smiled that much, for ‘normal’ people certainly did not. Smilers usually wanted something they normally kept quiet about.
The house was quiet and oppressive; it was of two storys, relatively untouched, and formerly the abode of one of the noblemen holding the town against the English. He had been arrested and held pending a ransom. As a priest, Father Richard had been one of the first to apply for a place of residence and been granted it. He wasn’t high enough to warrant being based in St.Martins, but living next door was good enough.
Dinner had finished and Father Richard dismissed the two others, asking them to clear up the table while he and Pip retired to the sacristry, or that was what he called it. No doubt it was been called something else by its previous owner. This chamber was upstairs and a comfortably large room with shuttered windows keeping out the night. The bare floorboards ran the length of the room, and a couple of rugs sat on this. There was a small table, a few chairs and a couple of side tables set against the walls.
Silver candlesticks held flickering candles and Pip was amazed, for only rich people could afford these. Was the priest a rich man? She stood uncertainly in the center of the room while Father Richard fussed over a velvet cushion on a wooden seat he was preparing to sit in. “Now, child,” he finally said, seating himself comfortably. “God has shown me a huge favor in bringing you to me. Verily art thou a thing of beauty, and beauty is blessed by God. I have been a humble servant of God for many, many years, and He has shown me the way to heaven. It is my humble burden in this life to show His way to the blessed so that they should know a taste of heaven before their time to leave this mortal realm. Kneel before me so that I may bless you, child.”
With her heart pounding, Pip obeyed slowly, finding being close to this man a little unsettling. She had no idea what the cleric was going to do next. Was this a normal part of the church blessing? Something told her that it was not; it was the look in the priest’s eyes more than anything else that put her on her guard.
Father Richard smiled, but it was not one that gave Pip any comfort. “Now, sweet child, you are to kiss the holy scepter.”
What holy scepter? Pip looked round for one, but the table was bare and no such object could be seen propped against any wall. She turned back, alerted by a rustling of clothes, and her eyes went wide with shock. The priest had hitched up his robes above his waist, and was naked underneath. His organ was engorged, swollen, and he pushed it towards her face.
“Do not be afraid, child,” the priest said soothingly, “this is my holy scepter and God commands you to kiss it.”
Pip wasn’t fooled for one moment. She’d had more than one man and knew exactly what the priest was wanting. The shock to her was that he was prepared to do this to a youthful boy, as this was what he thought she was. “Your holiness,” she said, trying to keep the disgust out of her voice, “I surely am not supposed to do this!”
“On the contrary,” Father Richard said, his voice edged with desire, “this is your vocation; God has told me you are a blessed child and to receive such a blessing from you would show me God’s favor. I shall indeed show you in turn the pleasure of your scepter. God has shown me how to bring a taste of heaven to my followers.”
All young boys, Pip realized. She stood up. “Father, I have seen these scepters and they are not holy.”
“Do not deny your calling!” the priest said in a strained voice, standing up. His face, red and sweaty, loomed before her and she shrank away. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the hair, forcing out a gasp of pain. She tugged at his hand but he was too strong for her. A stinging blow shook her as he slapped her across the face, and she was pushed to her knees once more. His manhood swam before her gaze once more.
“Kiss it, boy, or I shall invoke God’s wrath upon you and you shall be damned for eternity! Your soul shall never find rest. Do you wish this? No? Then do as I command!”
Pip shut her eyes. She felt the head press against her lips, and she kissed it quickly. The priest groaned, then pushed harder, forcing her lips, then jaw apart. “Now, child, suck it softly, and you shall re
ceive the blessing of Christ as a reward.”
Pip did as he bid, hoping the ordeal would end. If Cass found out he would be enraged and surely punish this grotesque man. The hope fortified her, and she now decided to stop fighting it, for it would only result in her being hurt even more. In fact, she enthusiastically went about her business, forcing a shriek of surprise and delight from the cleric. She knew what was about to happen and took hold of his shaft, giving him the best a woman could give a man whose taste was in boys. The thought made her smile briefly.
Father Richard was in his own private heaven. Oh, sweet blood of Jesus, this child was simply the best ever! Maybe he had found the perfect acolyte? He would see how this child took the other pleasures. Some of the boys he’d played with had objected, and he’d reluctantly in the past had to have them put to death. Quietly, to be sure, for a blabbering mouth could cause him some damage. Others, though, had not and those were the ones he’d kept until puberty, then he’d discarded them as the growth of hair in those places disgusted him.
His climax was accompanied by a shout of pleasure, and he emptied himself into the ‘boy’s’ mouth. Again, much to his pleased surprise, it was all swallowed. After a moment Father Richard sank back into his chair with a gasp. “By the saints, boy, you are indeed a gift from God.” He studied Pip, still kneeling there. “How old are you?”
Pip thought hard. How old was a boy her height? “Ah, t-twelve.”
The priest frowned. Twelve. Such a shame. It wouldn’t be long before things began to happen. A year, maybe two. Such a short time to get to know this beautiful child. “Twelve. Ah well, I wish to see you in God’s glory, how you came into this world.”
“Father?”
“Remove your clothing, boy. I wish to see you without the clothing put on the body that God gave you.”
“Father, I don’t wish to do that…”
“I command you, child. Now do not defy me.”
A loud thump on the roof startled them, and both looked up at the ceiling. Nothing happened for a moment, and the priest returned his attention to Pip. “Remove your clothing. I command it.”
Pip shook with fear. What would he do once her womanhood was revealed? The priest loomed over her, and she felt his hands grab her clothing and begin to tug at them. She fought him but a couple of hefty blows knocked her to the floor and he hauled off her coverlet and shirt, and her hose were pulled down roughly.
“What in the name of God?” the priest exclaimed, stopping suddenly.
Pip was sprawled on one of the rugs, her small breasts visible and her female anatomy in full view of his sight. She tried to keep her breathing under control.
“A female!” The priest stepped back a few paces, shock, then horror crossing his face. “God damn your soul, woman!”
“You forced yourself on me,” she objected.
“Forbidden fruit!” Father Richard said in a strangled voice, and crossed himself. “The work of the devil! The sin of Eve!”
Pip covered herself up and scrambled to her feet, on the other side of the table. Her face stung from the blows she’d received.
“I shall have you burned for your sinful deception!” the priest promised. “You shall suffer the fate of all heretics and unbelievers! How dare you deceive one of God’s chosen ministers on Earth!”
As he advanced, Pip moved, keeping the table between her and the furious man. She knew she could not evade his grip for long, but she was desperate and wanted to keep him as far away from her as possible for as long as possible.
The door crashed open and Casca stood there, framed in the doorway. “What is going on here?” he demanded, his sword in his hand.
“Cass!” Pip shrieked with relief. “He – touched me!”
“He what?” Casca stared at the priest, who was clutching his crucifix and holding it tight. “You treated her like a whore? What sort of priest are you?”
“How dare you!” the priest said, his voice cracking with fear. “God will punish you for this transgression!”
“He thought I was a boy!” Pip carried on, pointing at the priest.
“He thought…” Casca suddenly understood everything. This man was sick, sick beyond words. “You foul creature, using your position to corrupt innocents. You do not deserve to live.”
“You touch me and I’ll call down the wrath of God upon you, O foul disciple of Lucifer!”
“Aw shut up; you’re full of shit,” Casca said and backhanded the priest across the tabletop. He grabbed the stunned man by the throat and dragged him to the shutters on the far side, opening them. The window was shut, so he yanked down the black iron handle and pushed the window open. Father Richard was struggling to his feet and Casca helped him up, cuffing him round the head again. “You disgust me, you sick bastard. Have what you and your kind deserve,” and heaved the man up onto his shoulders, swung him round so his head faced the open window, and heaved him out. The priest shrieked as he vanished, and after a couple of seconds’ pause there came a thud as the man hit the ground.
“Cass!” Pip said in horror, “that was a priest!”
“So? A dirty boy screwer is just that, no matter what job he has! Good riddance to him!”
“But – “ Pip waved her hands ineffectually.
There came shouts from the ground floor below. Casca grabbed Pip and dragged her out of the room, and along a short passageway. “Let’s get out of here before we’re found! I will be for it if they find me here!”
“You’re mad,” Pip said, but squeezed his hand. “How are we going to get away?”
“Up here,” he said, pointing to an open trapdoor in the roof. He put Pip on his shoulders and pushed her up, the grabbed the lip of the trapdoor and hauled himself up and onto the roof, pushing the door to just in time, for footsteps could be heard clattering up the stairs just as he did so.
They shivered on the roof, watching the ground below as the priest’s body was found. A head popped out of the open window directly below them and they ducked back as the owner of the head spoke to those on the ground.
There came a shout. “Damn,” Casca said, nodding across at the rope stretching from the church tower. “They’ve seen that.”
“Why didn’t you hide it?” Pip asked in a furious whisper.
“How? It’s tied to the damned church tower!” He looked down. The man at the window had vanished and more people were running to the body which was surrounded by those who had come out of both St.Martins and the house. Casca pulled Pip back towards the hatch. “Come on, while they’re all outside, let’s go down through the house and out.”
They dropped back into the house, made their way to the stairs and with Casca in the lead, brandishing his sword, went down to the ground level and to the main door. There were too many people out in the street, all drawn by the cry of a death of a priest, but fortunately it meant there were no people in the house itself. Casca led Pip to the rear of the building and opened a window that overlooked some undergrowth. They both left and made their way to where the others were still waiting, crouched in the bushes near the graveyard. The four then crept away, having gotten away with rescuing Pip and having killed a priest.
CHAPTER TEN
There was a storm the next day that kept everyone indoors, shivering and cursing the weather, but over the couple of days following this Casca made enquiries about forming a bigger archer company with the other surviving groups that were also under the King’s middle guard. He was told to mind his own business but he didn’t care much about that anyway, all he wanted to do was to spy on the other groups and try to spot whoever the man was on his and Pip’s tail.
Finally his captain called them to a meeting and they all crowded into Harfleur town hall where other archers were gathered. There were fewer and fewer of them, thanks to the dysentery. They were told by their leaders that they were to depart on the morrow so to gather all their belongings. A garrison of some twelve hundred were to be left behind while the rest who were able to do so were t
o march for Calais. Casca knew that whoever it was hunting him was present, but he had no idea who it was. There must have been five hundred archers there. In other places in the town other meetings were taking place and the same story was being repeated. It was about time they went as food was terribly short and rumors of a huge French army being assembled at St.Denis near Paris were circulating.
Time they were off.
The next morning they tramped out through the Porte Monteliviers, set in the north wall. They were a motley lot; a mixture of well–armored men with swords and shields, richly dressed nobles on horseback with coats of arms fluttering above them or being worn on surcoats, roughly dressed archers trudging along in a loose file, and finally the camp followers and the few baggage wagons they had.
The army stretched out, eight thousand men in a long, straggling column, arranged in three groups. The Duke of York led the vanguard which would form the right flank should they need to fight. Behind him came the King’s middle guard which included Sir Godfrey Fulk and Casca, and this would form the center. Lastly came the rearguard under Lord Camoys and they would be the left flank.
As with all armies of that time, it spread out even longer as they made their way through the French countryside. Casca wasn’t surprised to see people sitting by the grassy verges, tending blisters, performing calls of nature – many brought on by dysentery – or merely resting. It wasn’t like a Roman legion where they marched smartly and kept together. The muster rolls were merely a paper exercise; what actually existed in the form of companies was something entirely different.
Casca was once again a sergeant. Losses due to the sickness or men being left behind to garrison Harfleur meant units were amalgamated. More than one nobleman had succumbed to dysentery and their retinues were shared out between those who remained.
Andrew walked, his head bowed, lost deep in thought. Sills grumbled as they made their way north-eastwards, mostly to himself in a monologue, while Walt had an air of weary resignation about him. Will was more lively, looking with interest at the scenery as they passed by. Gavin limped behind, having trodden on a sharp stone which slowed him down a bit. With them were other archers from the company, a mixture of Cheshiremen and Welshmen. These were regarded as being the best archers in the kingdom. Casca had to take on a dozen others and made sure that they stayed close.
