‘You have lookouts on the hill?’ he asked, quickly moving away from the issue of fighting their own people.
‘Aye,’ said Sir Roger, ‘on the other side, off the skyline......they will release fire arrows if de Clare’s men are spotted.’
‘What about the Cathedral?’
‘The people will shelter in there, and we will trust in God to protect them….if that sanctuary is violated the rebels are truly godless.’
Another silent exchange as both men noted the change from Englishmen to rebels.
‘And the bridge?’ Henry asked.
‘If we can hold the bridge,’ said de Capo, ‘we might hold the castle.’
Henry looked down into the bailey again and watched as the people below scurried about like ants, order within confusion. The blustery gale blowing this high up refreshed him after the long ride from Dover. They had ridden past Canterbury the night before and seen a mass of men camped outside the city. The men were part of the rebel army, but they had ignored the horsemen who were obviously geared for war and ready to fight. Knights and men at arms on heavy chargers were not to be taken lightly, and none of the rebels seemed keen to fight and die for such a small skirmish, ‘We saw a rebel army outside Canterbury, but there were still people entering and leaving the city.’
‘It remains an open city because of the Cathedral,’ Sir Roger sighed, ‘I’d heard rumours about another army, that means there could be at least three armies attacking, how many?
‘Not sure,’ admitted Henry, ‘less than a hundred horse but more than five hundred foot.’
‘Still more than we have, and three armies like that will be more than we can handle from the walls at any time.’
‘What is the garrison strength now?’ Henry asked.
‘With your men,’ de Capo replied, ‘we have ninety four Knights and men at arms, thirty archers and an equal number of crossbowmen. We also have the city and the bridge guard plus their captain, Sir Gilbert. A little under two hundred against twenty times that number, maybe more.’
Henry was surprised, ‘And the men in the city, they will fight surely!’
Sir Roger looked doubtful and shook his head, ‘You can force men to work but you cannot force them to fight for something they don’t believe in.’ He pointed towards the city walls before continuing, ‘If every able man stood on the walls we might have a chance, but most of these people are not inclined to fight for a King who is more French than English.’
Henry nodded and looked skywards again, he understood the comment and secretly agreed with it, ‘Perhaps God will bless us with an army of angels to help defend his Cathedral.’
‘Aye,’ said Sir Roger, as his shoulders slumped, ‘or he might just piss on us, and laugh as we bleed, screaming his name until we die.’
Henry turned to face de Capo, ‘What plans when the attack starts?’
‘We are holding a counsel after the noon bell where we will make our final plans. See to your men Sir Henry, and we will see you and the other commanders in the Kings Hall.’
Henry watched as Sir Roger and de Capo walked through the doorway of the tower and disappeared down the staircase. He looked down into the bailey again, to see the hurried movement of men preparing to fight a battle. Once more he looked to the sky and made a silent prayer for divine help. He looked up at the four towers and thought of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. ‘This garrison could use those four horsemen,’ he thought, as the clouds, thick in the sky gave the scene an air of finality. Henry adjusted his sword and followed Sir Roger and de Capo back into the Keep.
~
Ranulf was a tall man by the standards of the day, six feet and with a lean muscular frame, a strong sword arm and a face that could display compassion or rage depending on his mood and the circumstances. Unlike Henry he was not clean shaven but his beard was neatly trimmed and accentuated the dark brown eyes that showed intelligence a lot of his peers lacked. He thought of the hell to come, he may have saved a young boy this day but if the city fell he may have saved him for nothing. It was almost a standing joke between the men he fought with that his passion for helping the weak would one day be his undoing. Ranulf ignored the jibes for his task was clear and his oath to his mentor unwavering.
A castle under siege was a unique experience; no two sieges being identical. It was home to various classes, from the nobility down to the peasants who cleaned out the privy, the ones who kept the human waste running freely; washing down the brickwork the muck usually clung to on its way down into the pit at the back of the castle. Inside the main gate the builders had incorporated murder traps. The defenders would be positioned on the floor above, and through holes or grills set into floor would rain missiles and boiling water onto the poor unfortunates trapped below. The same principle had been applied to the Keep and the main door. Made from three inch thick oak bound with iron bands, and strengthened with thick iron nails it had been designed to be unapproachable to a battering ram.
The entrance to the Keep was at the top of an L shaped stair case. The first steps were climbed from the west side of the Keep and led up to the first door and Portcullis inside a guard tower that was built against the north west corner, one quarter the height of the Keep. A second set of steps led from the other side of the tower adjacent to the north side, and to a drawbridge leading across a pit to the Fore building in which the main door and Portcullis were set to the right of the entrance. It was impossible to use a ram against that door as the bridge would be pulled up and the doors to the Fore building locked. For all intents and purposes this system of doors and towers meant the great Keep was almost impregnable.
Half a century earlier King John had failed to enter the Keep until he dug a mine under one of the towers causing it to fall. It seemed the only way to win a siege here was from under the ground.
Slaughtered Livestock was salted and stored in the cold recesses below the Keep. An internal water supply with access from all floors made this Keep unique, but de Capo still insisted additional barrels of water were stored within; several barrels on each floor. Stocks of arrows and bolts were already being stored near the loop holes, the slits the archers would use to release the bolts and shafts onto the attackers.
The boundary walls of the castle were eight feet thick and would withstand the battering of any missiles and the Keep had similarly thick walls. If the attackers managed to enter the Keep the fighting would be bloody indeed, and if no quarter was offered none would be expected. For the women in a castle under siege their fear was always one of rape if the attackers entered. Their men folk had the same fear, although by the time the raping started they would be dead!
Ranulf took the time to walk around looking at the preparations and what he saw was not unsatisfying. The castle was strong, the walls were thick and the Keep was secure. The earlier feeling that he was on the right side had persisted and he looked up at the Keep to see the outline of Henry’s head looking down through the parapets. He turned to his left and made his way towards the Earl of Surrey who stood issuing instructions to a number of men from the castle garrison.
Ranulf stared in awe at the Keep rising steadfastly from the ground into the heavens, ‘Very impressive,’ he said to no one as he wondered at the vision of the man who had built such a thing.
Chapter Three
Twenty miles to the south west, Gilbert de Clare sat on his horse and watched his army trudge along the muddy track towards the Royalist held castle of Rochester. Women, children, beggars and peddlers followed behind his army, three thousand men on foot with horse and wagons filled with the accoutrements of an army on route to besiege.
De Clare was a young man and through inheritance the richest man in England. Nicknamed Gilbert the Red because of his red hair and a beard to match, he had already acquired a reputation for cruelty and viciousness. Gilbert had been married since the age of nine to Alice de Lusignan, a marriage that would not last. He did not love her and his obsession with Blanche de Warenne would ens
ure Alice’s days were numbered.
His eyes were said to be reptilian and could easily transfix any person caught in his stare. Men did not argue with Gilbert de Clare, for if they did they would likely end up looking down through lifeless eyes from the top of a spike. Ruthless though he was, he was he was also an able commander and a fearless fighter.
The men with him were silent and knew not to speak unless spoken to. Gilbert was still smarting from the knowledge that de Capo was holding Rochester and his spies said the Lady was with him. His standard bearer sat behind and to one side with de Clare’s coat of arms fluttering in the wind; three red inverted chevrons on a yellow background identified de Clare, repeated on his shield borne by his squire next to the standard bearer.
The rain of the previous days had made the ground thick with a viscous mud and the progress of his force was slow, far slower than he wanted. The plans were to attack and destroy the garrison before Easter. His pride and arrogance meant he wanted to be ready to attack before Simon de Montfort. They might be allies but in these times that could change like the wind. He also had a personal reason to attack the castle and the men with him were fully aware of that reason and ready to shy away from his anger if and when it boiled over.
‘Humfrey!’ de Clare barked.
Sir William Humfrey, de Clare's second in command moved his horse forwards and sat beside him waiting for his next words.
‘Did de Chauvigny arrive before we moved out?’
Humfrey nodded and looked at de Clare, ‘He did my Lord, arrived this morning,’ he paused before he gave de Clare bad news, ‘so did the Irishman. Arrived last night with two of the engines in ten wagons. Strange looking chap, name of Faelan, fat as a pig but seems to know his business.’
De Clare stared downwards at the column, ‘Two, I thought I said four, what happened, is the fat little bastard trying to cheat me?’
Humfrey also stared down at the column as he replied, ‘I did suggest that my Lord, but it appears he had to leave two behind, not enough men he said. Although I suspect he had another client to supply.’ Humfrey pointed out the ten wagons, each being pulled through the mud by four horses assisted by a number of men pushing the wagons from the rear. Humfrey briefly smiled as one of the men slipped in the mud and went down face first, a chorus of jeers and abuse shouted in Gaelic floated up to the watching men.
The wagons contained trebuchets, broken down into moveable parts, siege weapons that worked with a counterweight and threw a large rock at some considerable force in an attempt to break the walls of a besieged castle. Mangonels were the easier option and although he had mangonels he also wanted the far more powerful trebuchet. He wanted to break the wall and exact his personal vendetta. He badly wanted four trebuchets, for that many concentrated on one section of the walls would surely break through. If not he would bombard the Baileys continuously and cause mayhem and murder to the defenders. The siege weapons fifty years before had failed to break through even though they had the high ground to the south of the castle. That same ground was unlikely to be defended as all the defenders would be inside the castle, so he would use that ground to pummel the Keep with the trebuchets and use the mangonels on the city walls.
Attacking Rochester was a gamble. The barons knew they needed a quick victory to secure the entire south east of England. If Rochester fell the war would be all but won. Attacking that monolith certainly hadn’t been de Clare’s choice until he was informed de Capo and Blanche were there. He gritted his teeth and his lips curled involuntarily as he thought of the embarrassment on the day he met the man he called the ‘whoreson bastard’. Now he had the opportunity to put things right. He gave a small smile as he thought of beheading de Capo once the castle had been taken.
As he watched the column a shout went up when one of the wagons became stuck in the mud, ‘Turds!’ he cursed, ‘at this speed we won’t be there until Easter. Have your scouts returned?’
Humfrey leant forward and rested on the pommel of his saddle, ‘Not yet, I had expected some news by now, assuming they haven’t been captured or killed.’
‘I want some news…now!’ demanded de Clare. He turned and looked into Humfrey’s eyes, ‘Arrange it.’
Humfrey nodded and turned his horse, trotting to the rear of the group where he spoke to one of the mounted men at arms. The soldier listened carefully and rode off to overtake the front of the column and find Humfrey’s scouts. Under the command of de Clare, the man would not dare to return without either a scout or news of some sort.
As Humfrey resumed his place next to de Clare, he looked to his left, ‘My Lord!’
De Clare looked in the direction Humfrey indicated and saw two horsemen climbing the hill towards him, ‘De Chauvigny!’
‘Aye my Lord.’
‘Doesn’t look too happy,’ said de Clare as he watched the two knights approach.
‘Not seen either of them smile much.’
‘Think he’ll live up to his promise?’
Humfrey hesitated and de Clare looked round at him as he finally spoke, ‘If he told the truth, I see no reason why not.’
‘But you don’t trust him,’ de Clare muttered, ‘any more than I do.’
‘No,’ admitted Humfrey, ‘he needs to be watched!’
De Clare continued to watch the two knights climbing the hill. This was the second time de Clare had seen de Chauvigny and his first impression that he was a killer hadn’t changed.
As the two men approached, de Clare’s mind went back to the meeting a few days earlier when de Chauvigny and his badly scarred lieutenant Robert de Balon arrived at Tonbridge Castle demanding an audience.
‘He says his name is Reynaud de Chauvigny,’ said Humfrey when de Clare asked who had the temerity to demand anything from him, let alone an audience.
De Clare hated unexpected guests, ‘And? Where’s he from, and what does he want?’
Humfrey shrugged, ‘He wouldn’t tell me. He said he would introduce himself and would explain his visit to the Earl.’
De Clare wasn’t going to be forced into a meeting with anyone, and decided to make a point. After making them wait for more than two hours without even the offer of water, he finally allowed both men to enter the hall. He sat on one side of his long table with Humfrey standing behind him, an empty chair positioned opposite and two guards by the door, both with crossbows loaded with bolts; in these times assassination attempts were all too common.
De Chauvigny stepped into the hall with de Balon at his side. De Clare felt uneasy at the sight of the two men in red surcoats approaching with faces devoid of any expression. One with a shaggy ginger beard splattered with grey and the other an angry red scar crossing his face diagonally. Neither man smiled, their eyes were grey and piercing. Humfrey fidgeted and gripped the hilt of his sword and glanced at the guards who both raised their crossbows slightly. The movement, although behind and silent was not missed by de Balon who gave a quick glance over his left shoulder.
As de Chauvigny stopped and made eye contact with de Clare, de Balon took a step backwards and the scene was set with de Clare understanding who the master was and who the lieutenant. De Chauvigny inclined his head slightly in greeting and de Clare indicated with a wave of his hand for the stocky, bearded man to sit. He was in no mood to play games and he came straight to the point, ‘Well,’ he demanded, ‘you asked for an audience, who are you and what do you want?’
De Chauvigny removed his gauntlets and placed them on the table, a sign he was not here to fight. He glanced up at Humfrey standing stiffly at de Clare’s side, hand on hilt, ready to advise or protect, whichever was necessary.
‘Well,’ demanded de Clare impatiently, ‘you asked for an audience!’
‘My apologies for this intrusion, ‘de Chauvigny said gruffly, I am Reynaud de Chauvigny, Chevalier, formerly of Poitou and of late from Acre, the man beside me is my second, Sir Robert de Balon.’
De Clare sighed, ‘Well now we both know who we are, what do you want?’
‘I am a Master,’ continued de Chauvigny, completely unfazed by de Clare’s rudeness, ‘in the Imperial Order of Jerusalem, perhaps you have heard of us?
De Clare frowned at the way his questions were being ignored and without taking his eyes off de Chauvigny snarled, ‘Humfrey?’
‘I’ve heard the name mentioned my Lord, an ancient order with a reputation for brutality.’ He glanced at de Balon who gave the slightest hint of a smile.
De Clare was getting irritated and shifted in his seat at the arrogance of the men in front of him, ‘This is all very well, but what do you want?’
‘I think we can help each other,’ de Chauvigny’s mouth gave the appearance of a smile but his eyes remained cold and the intensity of his stare made de Clare look away. This irritated him even more. He was in his own castle surrounded by his own men and he knew all he had to do was give the word and these strangers would be set upon and slaughtered like plague ridden peasants. Yet they scared him, he, the richest man in England, did not appreciate feeling scared in his own property, ‘How can you help me?’ he finally sneered.
‘I have been sent to England by my Grand Master to find a man who has stolen from us.’
De Clare was curious, ‘What man?’
‘His name is Ralf de Capo,’ de Chauvigny’s eyes widened a fraction as Humfrey glanced down at de Clare whose complexion slowly changed colour at the mention of the man who made him lose face so dramatically. ‘We have discovered he is in the service of the King,’ de Chauvigny continued, ‘and you are fighting against the King which makes you our ally.’
De Clare’s face slowly returned to its normal colour and the obvious tension in his body disappeared as he forced himself to relax, ‘And what makes you think I will help you?’
De Chauvigny finally looked away and raised a finger as he glanced to the man at his side, ‘Robert.’
For the first time De Balon spoke, clearly and succinctly, and both de Clare and Humfrey showed obvious surprise when they realised he was English, ‘We have been searching for this man for two months, unfortunately the weather has hampered us, but, we have heard rumours of a rift between you my Lord, and de Capo, over a certain Lady. We have also heard rumours the King has asked him to hold Rochester, a place, so it is again rumoured, you are going to attack, a place we are led to believe that de Capo has taken this Lady to.’
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