Deus Militis - Soldiers of God

by Jonathan A Longmore

  Simon de Montfort gave Richard a wry smile, ‘If I thought you a danger you would be dead, but there is a quality about you I like.’ He scratched his beard and pursed his lips in thought, ‘You made a promise to the man who captured you not to try and escape from him.....I expect that promise to include me......of course I cannot let you have your weapons but you can ride with me and we can talk......well?’

  Richard nodded, strangely pleased to be in this man’s company. You have my word.’

  De Montfort nodded once and slapped Richard on the arm like a best friend, ‘Go fetch your horse.’

  Richard stood speechless as Simon de Montfort strode away with his bodyguard leaving him standing alone watching an enemy army marching towards his comrades.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was late morning on the 17th April, the clouds were thick and grey and a cool breeze blew across the city as Henry led his men out of the castle and back into the city. Ranulf was the one man missing and he felt naked without his friend riding next to him.

  People from the city watched in silence, some making the sign of the cross as Henry led his men past the Cathedral entrance and up the hill towards the south gate. The Bishop stood outside and watched with a sombre expression as Henry and his knights passed. Men from the garrison stood on the walls of the city and the castles south curtain wall, joined by a number of men from the civil population who had offered to fight. Most of them had fought in campaigns in the past and this had swollen the number of defenders to over two hundred.

  The gates were opened and Henry and his men cantered out in full armour. With weapons drawn they rode in file around the bottom of the hill to the wood line before they slowed to a walk and finally stopped. By prearranged signals the file of men turned and in line abreast they climbed the hill, ready to sweep onto any enemy they encountered. The move was a bluff as Henry had been ordered to retreat to the castle before joining any of the rebels in battle; Rochester could not afford to lose any men before the siege started.

  Slowly they climbed to the crest of the hill where the two dead men were impaled. One of Henry’s men rode down to the edge of the moat and recovered the two heads that he placed in separate sacks. Four of the Knights dismounted next to the bodies and the remaining Knights formed a protective screen facing back down the hill away from the castle.

  The first body was lowered to the ground once the stake had been dug out of the ground. It took four men to remove the stake from the body, two to hold the body and two to pull the stake through. This was repeated for the second man. Their bodies were placed across the backs of two spare horses brought for that purpose.

  The enemy had not shown themselves but each man had the feeling of being watched. With the bodies secure the knights rode at a walk back down the hill in single file with Henry at the rear. He was the last to enter the south gate but before doing so turned and looked back at the tree line in time to see a lone horseman emerge and watch him. Henry recognised him as de Chauvigny and he resisted the temptation to ride out and meet him, instead backing his horse through the gate all the while not removing his eyes from the bearded knight. As the gate closed he saw him turn and return to the woods.

  Henry removed his helmet, tied it to his saddle and pulled back his mail coif. He turned his horse to face the Bishop who stood outside the Cathedral entrance surrounded by angry citizens. He looked at the Bishop who was arguing with one of the men from the City and pointing at the bodies, defiantly shaking his head.

  His men watched the agitated crowd with blank faces as the Bishop continued to argue, ‘No.....they will not be buried here, impossible, no, the church will not permit it, they cannot enter heaven. NO!’

  The man arguing with the Bishop turned to see Henry watching and walked over to him,

  ‘My Lord, I beg you to speak to the Bishop.’

  Henry looked down at the man, ‘Who are you?

  ‘I’m Ned, the cousin of Will, one of the men you bought back.’ Ned turned and glared at the Bishop who stood with a smirk on his face, ‘The Bishop says they can’t be buried on holy ground, they died for this city and his Cathedral and now he won’t bless ‘em or bury ‘em.’

  Henry saw Ned’s anger and grief and wondered at the power the Bishop held over the people, a power granted by a man far away and a power that was routinely abused. He cast his gaze over the crowd, looked at his men who sat stony-faced waiting to see what he did and glanced at the corpses before returning his gaze to the Bishop, ‘Tell me Bishop, the reason for not blessing these men?’

  The angry mutterings of the people who formed the crowds slipped away and fell silent as they stared at the man they all knew was nephew to both the King and the man who was marching to destroy them. The silence was overpowering and people waited patiently for the Bishop to reply as he glanced about apprehensively. The priests with him were nervous and knew even their status might not protect them from the mob.

  ‘Their heads have been removed,’ blurted the Bishop, ‘and as such they cannot be given eternal life or placed in consecrated ground, the church forbids it!’

  Henry sighed and shook his head in dismay; he dropped his gaze. He was tired of the church, tired of the superstition, tired of the way the church ruled everyday life with their overbearing piety and intolerance and tired of petty squabbles when he would be fighting for his life within a few hours. The people were watching and waiting for him to make a decision. Most of them would prefer the protection of a knight and his sword than a priest and his cross.

  Henry saw this as a moment in which to earn favour with the crowd, perhaps enough to make more men join those on the wall, ‘Bishop Lawrence de Sancto Martino,’ Henry gave the Bishop the honour of calling him by his full name and moved his horse closer while holding his sword loosely by his right leg, ‘These men died for this city, I believe God would welcome them into heaven, head or no head and you will see them on their way or by God’s good grace I will use a third sack for your head!’

  The Bishops face turned red as Henry raised his sword and pointed it in his face, ‘You can complain to the King, the Archbishop or the Pope, but today you will bury those men.’

  The crowd murmured as Henry smiled down at the Bishop who had frozen in the face of the steel that pointed unwavering a fingers breadth from his eyes, he lowered his voice and only those people close by could hear, ‘Don’t make me come looking for you!’

  The Bishop stared wide eyed the point of his sword and gave the smallest of nods as he swallowed hard, ‘You make a forceful argument Sir Henry,’ he croaked, ‘perhaps in this instance the church can make an exception.’

  Henry dropped the point of his sword and looked down at Ned, ‘Take their bodies and have your funeral.’

  Ned nodded and turned to several of the men in the crowd, ‘Take the bodies,’ he turned back to Henry, ‘thank you my Lord, the families of these men are in your debt.’

  ‘Just make sure you and your friends are on the walls when the fighting starts!’

  While the flustered bishop stood and stared, Henry turned his horse and made his way back to the castle with his men following. As they entered the outer bailey Sir John de Warenne and de Capo were walking along the east curtain wall. Henry dismounted and handed his horse to the stable boy while his men stayed mounted and waited for his orders.

  ‘Sir Henry!’

  Henry looked up at de Capo’s voice and watched as he and Sir John descended into the outer bailey, ‘You pulled your sword on the Bishop!’ exclaimed Sir John, ‘We and half the garrison saw you pull your damned sword on the Bishop!’

  Henry shrugged and turned to his men, ‘Rest the horses but be ready to fight.’

  As his men walked their horses back to their stables Henry turned to de Capo, ‘The church are weak when it comes to a real fight and we need the people on our side, we don’t need them cowering in the Cathedral praying for a miracle, we are the miracle, my men and yours. I’ve given you the people, for the sake of two
headless men buried on consecrated ground the people will be on our side and if God is watching those people will man the walls and fight.’

  ‘I agree,’ said de Capo, ‘because if the reports are accurate, we have five or six thousand rebels here within a few hours.’

  Chapter Twelve

  In the woods to the south of the city de Chauvigny watched as De Balon put his plan into action nodding as he realised it just might work. The shock tactic of killing the two lookouts had served its purpose. De Chauvigny had recognised de Capo standing on the Keep and enjoyed creating the spectacle for him. But De Balon’s plan, although risky, offered greater rewards than just angering the defenders and instilling fear into the populace.

  The previous evening had been spent in the company of de Clare and his knights discussing the tactics they would employ when they reached the city. There was nothing remarkable about the attack, it would be from two directions, one at the city walls by de Clare and one at the bridge by de Montfort. De Clare had made it abundantly clear he wanted to arrive first and strike the first blow; he also reiterated his desire to capture de Capo alive and had gone so far as offering a reward to the man who captured him. He didn’t care what state he was in as long as he lived, ‘Reynaud,’ de Clare had singled de Chauvigny out during the discussion as he had sat and eaten but made no contribution to the plan of attack, ‘what are your views on how we should take the city?’

  De Chauvigny sat next to De Balon and cast his eyes over the assembled knights and military engineers as they all turned to look at him. He finished chewing the hunk of pork he ripped off the roasted carcass outside the Earl’s tent and washed it down with a beaker of ale before replying to the unexpected question, ‘I have no views my Lord. I am a newcomer to this fight and I am sure your plans are more than sufficient to take the city,’ he paused and looked once more at the other men in the tent before continuing, ‘but I doubt you’ll take the Keep.’

  All eyes remained on de Chauvigny at that comment and they each recognised a challenge when they saw one. De Clare carefully placed his beaker on the table in front of him and glanced at Humfrey who watched silently with the rest of the men around the table, ‘What do you know of the Keep?’

  ‘I passed through Rochester a few months ago; the city is well defended and with enough men could hold against a determined army long enough for help to arrive. The walls have to be breached quickly to stand any chance of getting into the castle. From what I saw and have heard, the Keep is the main problem. Your King John had to mine it, I suspect you will not have the luxury of time to do that, and until the Keeps falls the castle will never be yours, and if the Keep does not fall you will not get de Capo, or the Lady!’

  De Clare stiffened at the mention of Blanche and de Chauvigny’s eyes glinted as he knew the Earl’s weakness. His men had been mixing with de Clare’s men and the story of Blanche had been foremost. Everyone knew the passion de Clare had for taking Rochester and the real reason why. He turned to Humfrey, ‘Clear the tent, I will speak with Reynaud alone.’

  De Chauvigny and De Balon continued to eat and drink as everyone left, muttering to each other and glancing back at the Earl and the strange French knight and his henchman. Humfrey stood at the entrance to the tent and stared first at De Balon then at de Clare who waved the issue away, ‘Sir Robert can stay if it pleases Reynaud, and you Humfrey, you will stay as well.’

  Humfrey opened the curtains and spoke sharply to the guards outside the tent, pulled the flaps across and took his seat beside the Earl.

  De Clare spoke first, ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘That depends on how squeamish you are.’

  De Clare and Humfrey both looked at each other, ‘Go on, ‘said de Clare.

  De Chauvigny dropped the meat he was holding and wiped his hands on his surcoat, ‘We need to scare the people in the city first.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘It might be best you do not know my Lord. My men and I are experts at feeding peoples fear, but it will not be pleasant.’

  De Clare’s eye narrowed and he leant forward across the table, ‘This is England, there are rules…..rules not even I can break.’

  ‘I do not worry about the rules of men.’ De Chauvigny’s mouth parted and Humfrey and de Clare both shuddered at the evil that appeared to emanate from the contorted features that passed as a grin from the bearded man, ‘You allow me a free hand and I will make those people shit themselves before they even see your army.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘No, Robert has a suggestion and if you agree we will leave at first light and prepare the way for you.’

  De Clare listened, and the following morning before the army woke and prepared to continue their march, de Chauvigny and his men left and made their way to Rochester.

  Now, De Chauvigny watched as De Balon made the necessary preparations, and he smiled as he thought of de Capo suffering under his blade.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gilbert stood at the top of the Gate House and grinned as he looked out over the river to the far bank. He’d just heard about the incident with Henry and the Bishop, and as much as he believed in the sanctity of the church there were times they forgot about the men who bled and died for them. He pondered on their chances of victory and absentmindedly shook his head. If darkness descended before the enemy arrived he had ordered fires to be lit on the far bank to prevent the rebels creeping up to the stakes and removing them. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would give the archers on the bridge half a chance.

  There had been no other movement on Boley Hill and no further incidents after the impaling of the sentries that morning. He only had twenty of the archers and half a dozen of the crossbowmen, most of them were in the Keep or on the City Wall. He decided to practice the archers he did have, most of them being the men recruited from the city population and at the advice of Jerold, he had them shoot several volleys across the river as practice in the hope of hitting the enemy at night, although the distance was almost at the extreme range of the famed English Longbow.

  Gilbert turned as a cry went up from the tower and everyone in earshot looked up to see the sentry pointing to the south east again, ‘Rider approaching!’

  Sir Roger was at the top of the Keep with FitzAlan and Ranulf looking at the defences from on high and trying to work out if there were any better ways of defending the city walls. They looked to the south east and saw a rider galloping hard for the south gate. He was skirting the edge of the woods to the east of Boley Hill and frantically glancing behind him. As the defenders watched, a group of horsemen came into view from the same direction chasing him hard.

  The rider started waving and yelling at the defenders to open the gate as a second band of armoured horsemen emerged from the north eastern edge of the woods cutting him off from his escape route and forcing him to head towards the east gate. He veered away and the second group gave chase. The distance between the rider and his pursuers was a matter of yards and their fresh mounts were gaining as his horse started to slow.

  Sir Roger watched in horror as he realised it could only be one of the patrols returning. The defenders were shouting and yelling, futile screams to make the horse go faster and the volume increased as more and more of the men on the walls joined in. De Capo and Sir Henry were in the outer bailey with Sir John, talking to the Smith about the new bodkin when the shouting started. The three men glanced up at the tower and saw Sir Roger screaming down at the men on the wall. De Capo and Henry both ran frantically to the nearest horses and cantered out of the bailey shouting at the guards to move as they swept out of the castle and turned towards the east gate.

  On the south wall Sir Geoffrey Marston had been checking his Templars and spotted the danger instantly. He ran along the wall shouting frantically, ‘ARCHERS …ARCHERS!!!’

  Several longbow men converged on the Templar.

  ‘Protect him!’

  The east gate was already being opened and men from the town guard were rea
dy with pikes to fend off the enemy if they attempted to enter the city. The horseman thrashed his horse as he galloped parallel to the city walls in a desperate attempt to pull away from his pursuers, a battle he was losing with each stride.

  A volley of arrows punched through the air by the power created by the Yew bow and struck the side of the enemy horsemen with a series of thuds! The effectiveness of the new style of bodkin became apparent in that first volley as three of the riders were struck with arrows which penetrated their shields and went on to penetrate their mail, two in the thighs and one in the upper arm. A couple bounced off the plate helms having struck at an angle and one struck a horse in the neck.

  The volley momentarily caused mayhem and stopped the riders in their tracks. This gave their quarry enough time to make it to the south east corner of the city wall where he was forced to slow down to turn into the east gate. The archers notched another arrow before the first one had struck and released a second volley which added to the chaos caused by the first.

  Again the bodkins penetrated shields and mail and several more horses were struck as the riders struggled to control them, sliding and spinning round in panic at the sudden smell of fresh blood. The cheers and abuse of the defenders on the walls mixed with the shouts of the riders as their horses bucked and reared, their panicked shouts adding to the sound of armour rattling as they fought to bring them back under control. After the few seconds of turmoil the enemy riders managed to turn their horses heads and canter out of killing range of the bowmen who were about to let loose a third volley.

  Sir Geoffrey shouted, ‘Hold…hold….don’t waste arrows.’

  The two bands of enemy horsemen regrouped beyond effective range of the bows and glared at the defenders. The injured men looked confused as their shields were pinned to their bodies, and grimaced in pain as their comrades contemptuously pulled out the un-barbed arrows and after making a show of examining the heads threw them on the ground in disgust.

  Sir Geoffrey turned to one of the archers, ‘How many of those arrows do you have?’