Deus Militis - Soldiers of God

by Jonathan A Longmore

  He had spent the day deep in thought and ordered Humfrey to hunt down de Montfort’s spies as soon as the city had fallen. Spy hunting now would detract from their task of taking Rochester and the damage had already been done, but de Clare would have answers one way or the other. De Clare had not mentioned the man inside the city. De Montfort made no mention of it and de Clare decided he would have at least one advantage, one secret!

  He spent most of the day in his tent and by early evening was joined by Humfrey. He assured de Clare the army were ready to move at a moment’s notice. They both looked up as the tent flap was pushed to one side and a knight from Boley hill entered. He stood in front of de Clare and waiting for permission to speak.

  De Clare looked at him impatiently ‘Well?’

  ‘We have the signal my Lord, Sir Simon will be attacking the bridge within minutes.

  De Clare grabbed his helmet and looked at Humfrey with excitement in his eyes, ‘Time to win a city.’

  The three men left the tent and Humfrey mounted his horse and cantered across to the main army. Within seconds a horn blew, orders were shouted and men started to gather themselves in ranks. The few loitering about were kicked into action and knights mounted their horses. It was early evening, the daylight had been poor all day and what little light they had was starting to fade. The air was still cold, the ground still damp, fires still flickered and the men in de Clare’s army jostled each other for position as they formed ranks. Surrounded by his bodyguard, de Clare took his place in front of them.

  The clatter of weapons and shields being made ready filled the air and the chatter dissipated to a low murmur as Humfrey approached de Clare, ‘They’re ready.’

  Orders had already been sent to the mangonels to cease their attack and de Clare gave a cold grin, ‘Sound the attack.’

  Humfrey raised his hand, the horn sounded again and de Clare’s army marched past him towards the city. Archers ran in front carrying pavise shields and the men carrying the ladders moved quickly to the front.

  De Clare nudged his horse towards Rochester.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  De Capo slept until the afternoon and woke fully refreshed. After spending some time with Blanche he returned to the south wall and now stared at the smoke starting to drift across the city as he listened to the shouting emanating from the bridge. The north wall was now unguarded as the men from the north wall were now reinforcing the men guarding the bridge. He looked morosely at the depleted garrison as the thump of another rock striking the east gate reverberated along the battlements.

  Several wounded prisoners had been bought into the city by FitzAlan, some died as they were dragged through the gates, of the rest only one man had the strength to talk and he died soon after asking for his mother. FitzAlan now stood like a rock staring to the south while Sir Roger and Sir Geoffrey stood together and listened to the sounds of the fighting on the bridge.

  The blare of a horn to the south made everyone look in the same direction as FitzAlan. In the fading light the ranks of the enemy could be seen. As they watched with grim expressions the horn was heard again and the enemy ranks started to move towards the city. The men on the walls lifted their shields and flexed their arms, looking expectantly towards de Capo.

  ‘Well?’ FitzAlan demanded.

  De Capo looked towards the bridge house as the smoke rising from the remains of the city started to dissipate. The sound of the fighting was constant, he knew sheer numbers would overcome them. Looking back at the horde advancing towards them, he was able to make out features, shields, individual men, knights, standards and archers running with their pavise shields to shower them with flesh destroying arrows and bolts. They started to run at the city!

  ‘Sir Ralf!’ demanded FitzAlan, ‘your orders!’

  De Capo looked at the huge man, they would never hold the wall again and he gave the order he dreaded, ‘Retreat to the Castle.’ He turned and faced the bridge guard, ‘Tell Gilbert to abandon the bridge.’

  As the guard ran back to the bridge house, FitzAlan stormed along the battlement, ‘Get back to the castle!’

  The men on the wall didn’t need that order repeated and they ran along the battlements as the first of the rebel arrows flew up at them. De Capo, Sir Roger and the Templars had horses and mounted them as the remains of their garrison headed towards the castle as fast as they could. A roar went up from the attackers as ladders were raised and within seconds rebels swarmed over the wall unopposed. Orders were shouted and several rebels ran to the east gate tower to raise the portcullis while others headed to pull open the gates. Using axes and hammers the rebels smashed the timbers used to strengthen the gate and removed the locking bars, the portcullis was raised from inside the gate tower and armoured horsemen poured through into the city. Shafts and bolts started to plummet into the attackers still climbing the ladders as the men on the Keep tried to cover the retreat.

  The speed de Clare’s army entered the city took the retreating garrison by surprise. Dozens turned to fight but were quickly overwhelmed. Others dropped their weapons and ran towards the castle, some fell and were slaughtered before they could get back to their feet, others pleaded for mercy. Sharp steel cut short their pleas and they died in the mud, their killers seeking revenge for the massacre of their own men the day before.

  De Chauvigny was cruel, vicious and enjoyed inflicting pain, but he was also fearless and he and his men were the first through the gate. The line of knights in red surcoats spread out and ran down the retreating men. They caught up with the stragglers and slaughtered them, hacking men to pieces and allowing their horses to trample on broken bodies. De Chauvigny’s expression was one of rage and he fought next to de Balon who slashed down time and again.

  A crossbow bolt flew past de Chauvigny’s head as he leant to one side and took off the head of a royalist. He spun round and saw another crossbowman aiming at him and as the bolt was released one of de Clare’s men rode into its path and the bolt struck him in the side of the face. He fell like a sack and de Chauvigny screamed and charged at the two crossbowmen who were feverishly trying to reload new bolts.

  De Balon heard the screams and hammered the flat of his blade down onto the rump of his horse lunging into a charge after de Chauvigny. Both crossbowmen tried to run as they saw the red adorned knights charging down on them. Their deaths were violent but quick and de Chauvigny pulled his horse to a sliding stop and surveyed what was happening.

  Sir Geoffrey, accompanied by his knights reached the drawbridge in their retreat but stopped and looked back. He saw half the men from the wall were still trying to get back to the castle. The rebels were swarming over the top like ants and more of their cavalry were pouring through into the city. He gave the order for his men to return to the attack and they charged in file, splitting in two as one half went to the south of the cathedral and the other to the north. Both single files spread into line abreast and they charged into the rebels to allow those on foot a chance to escape. Panic was starting to take over and those who could, ran into the cathedral expecting the sanctuary to protect them.

  De Chauvigny and his men joined with de Clare’s own cavalry and met the Templars head on and although they were massively outnumbered the warrior monks refused to retreat without an order. Four men wearing the red cross died in that melee but they had killed at least a score or more of the enemy, none of them were de Chauvigny’s men. The fighting could not have been more vicious and the Templars were close to being overwhelmed when Sir Geoffrey ordered the retreat and the survivors turned and headed back towards the drawbridge.

  The men fighting on the bridge house were reaching breaking point and they started to make a fighting retreat off the wall. Gilbert had fought like a man possessed and was drenched in the blood of the men he had killed. Half his men were already dead and the rest were trying to fight their way off the wall before running to the castle.

  De Montfort’s men started to swarm over the crenulations and Gil
bert found himself surrounded. He looked to his left and right, dead bodies were everywhere and the enemy soldiers either side of him were wary. No one wanted to die, no one except Gilbert. He looked up and saw a raven fly across the sky and he smiled. His arm ached, his body ached and his heart that had ached for so many years beat so fast it felt as if it was going to burst.

  On his left, the man closest to him was young, no more than twenty. A sword in his right hand and a shield in his left, his face streaked with sweat and dirt, and fear in his eyes. Those behind him were silent, and Gilbert looked at the men on his right and the closest of those was older, he had no fear, just a lust to kill and move on to the next.

  Gilbert was tired, his left arm dropped and the shield slid off as he released the grip. He closed his eyes and in his mind he could see his wife and baby son. He pulled off his helmet and pushed back the mail coif and his head slumped forwards as he finally accepted the only way he was going to die was if he gave up. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees. He was ready. He was at peace and he smiled as he heard the footstep and the air being cut as the blade was bought down sending him home.

  Jerold had grabbed all the archers and crossbowmen who survived and massed them on the curtain walls either side of the main gate tower. As the Templars retreated they tried to shield the remaining men escaping on foot. De Capo and Sir Roger had joined the fight and smashed skulls and faces as they turned and twisted in their saddles hacking and cutting down.

  De Capo heard the booming voice of FitzAlan and turned to see the big man on the drawbridge with his sword raised. De Capo shouted at Sir Roger and both men joined the exodus across the drawbridge and into the bailey.

  The rebels charged en masse as they saw their way into the castle but hadn’t reckoned on Jerold. He gave his orders and the archers notched, aimed and released the first volley. Before the first one had struck they released the second, then the third. The enemy advance faltered and the bowmen released the fourth and the fifth. They were using the last of the new bodkins, but they worked and the enemy stopped and cowered behind their shields and the horsemen backed off and tried to move out of the killing zone. A sixth volley was released and more men fell.

  Jerold looked and saw the men from the bridge house were running into the castle. De Capo was now standing at the end of the drawbridge with FitzAlan; both men were drenched in the blood of their victims and de Capo raised his sword at Jerold. The man had done his job and allowed the remainder of the garrison to get to safety.

  The rebels realising the hail of missiles had stopped, screamed and charged again. The cavalry spurred their horses into a canter trying to reach the castle before the drawbridge was raised. De Capo and FitzAlan were the last of the surviving defenders to enter the castle and they did so at a run. Another wall of arrows and bolts from the men on the curtain wall again stopped the enemy advance and the drawbridge was raised as the rebels shouted and jeered at the royalists.

  By the time the portcullis was lowered and the gates closed and barred the survivors had manned the curtain walls and waited for the next attack. De Capo looked around him and saw the losses they had suffered exceeded his worst estimates. He had a mental count and realised there were only seventy or so men left who could fight, there were dozens injured and the rest were dead or captured. They were thinly stretched and if a man fell there would be no-one to take their place.

  A woman screamed as a group of de Clare’s men ran into the cathedral after the royalists who had taken refuge in there. More screams emanated from the cathedral and the castle defenders looked on helplessly as more rebels ran inside. Those who had tried to hide were dragged out and slaughtered in front of the castle walls and a row of heads soon adorned spikes that were thrust into the ground on the edge of the moat.

  The rest of the rebels began to mill about until orders were shouted. They were formed into groups that moved to different points around the castle. The ladders used to climb the city walls were dragged over the top and carried to the curtain walls and as they arrived a horn sounded followed by a roar as the rebels descended into the dry moat and started to climb up the other side under a hail of missiles from the archers and crossbowmen.

  As men died and screamed the ladders were precariously raised against the wall and de Clare’s men started to climb, shields held high. The survivors of the garrison, smashed, hacked, sliced and cut into the attackers as they tried to get over the wall. Arrows and bolts flew in both directions and more men fell wounded and dying. The attackers had spears and swords thrust into their faces and men fell off the ladders and plummeted back into the ditch, breaking backs and skulls as they landed on the wooden stakes. Faces were smashed, and flesh ripped and split apart on both sides as the fighting grew more and more desperate. Several made it over the wall and the killing was vicious and short as the blood splattered the stones and the wounded screamed in pain.

  Henry’s men had all survived thus far and they put their fighting skills to good use as they fought in one group and slaughtered rebels by the dozen. The remaining Templars were equally formidable and those that faced both groups of knights died swiftly and harshly.

  As quickly as the attack had started, it stopped when a horn sounded again and the rebels retreated under a continuing hail of arrows and bolts. Dead and wounded adorned both sides of the wall and de Capo, breathing hard and splattered in fresh blood stood on the curtain wall at the side of the main gate tower and watched as the rebels backed away. He turned and saw Jerold directing archers and ran across and gave him the order to stop, ‘Save your arrows, Jerold, we’ll need them yet.’

  FitzAlan stood and stared at the city’s west wall, at the bodies and the bloodbath that had taken place there. He had seen Gilbert fall and knew the old man had finally given up. He spat over the wall and cursed the man who had killed him. De Capo joined him and as FitzAlan told him about Gilbert, he closed his eyes and cursed at the futility of a lifetime of fighting and killing.

  On the top of the Keep Ranulf watched in frustration. Ordered to stay in the Keep whatever happened he was unable to do anything but direct the archers he had. As he watched he saw de Capo and FitzAlan leave the wall and join Henry and the other commanders in the bailey. De Capo waved his arms about and ended up by pointing at the Keep. He saw Henry look up at him and raise his arm. Ranulf returned the gesture, embarrassed he stood so far away from the fighting and prayed his friend would survive. Henry turned back to de Capo and Ranulf looked towards the bridge. The smoke had all but lifted and he saw a group of horsemen crossing the bridge, the banner of Simon de Montfort held high.

  He felt rather than heard the movement behind him and turned to find Blanch and Evelyn standing there, he knew de Capo would be angry if he knew Blanch was there but he was also glad to see Evelyn. Both women moved closer and looked over the edge at the carnage that had taken place. The shock on their faces was evident, men lay everywhere, some on the wall and some in the bailey. The blood had splattered the stonework and lay in puddles where men had been killed and still lay dying.

  The bombardment on the Keep had not been resumed and as darkness fell the men from both sides cared for their wounded and prepared for the next day. Fires were lit in the city and the men on the castle wall almost collapsed where they had fought. De Capo ordered every other man to eat and rest and throughout the night the men on the walls took it in turns to sleep or watch for a night attack. The night passed peacefully with only the groans of the wounded and dying interrupting the darkness. The crackling of the flames as the Kings Hall was burnt to the ground gave some warmth for the men who waited for the next onslaught.

  ~

  At midmorning the next day the rebels attacked the curtain wall at more places than the garrison could defend. They streamed over the walls and started to overrun the defenders. The fighting was hard and vicious as men from both sides fell. The dead and injured were trampled on in men’s haste to kill their enemies and the battlements became slippery with th
e blood and gore of those who had been hacked and hammered.

  The royalists were slowly beaten back towards the inner bailey until De Capo finally gave the order to withdraw to the Keep. It had been a fighting retreat that nearly became a complete massacre. Once again the archers and crossbowmen came into their own and produced a wall of steel temporarily stopping the rebels from overrunning the remains of the garrison.

  The gates in the cross wall had been pushed shut and barred as the rebels lunged against them and attempted to force their way through. Ladders were thrown against the wall and men clambered up to find the last of the survivors entering the main door to the Keep. The portcullis to the guard house had been dropped, and the drawbridge had been raised protecting the doors and entrance to the Fore building. By midday the castle had fallen although the Keep still held. The inner bailey was occupied by rebels allowing the archers in the castle to pick their targets. As more men fell the order was given to abandon the inner bailey.

  ~

  It was mid-afternoon, Simon de Montfort stood on top of the main gate tower with de Clare. He watched angrily as protective screens and pavise shields were raised in the outer bailey as protection from the arrows and bolts still flying from the Keep. The mangonels had been dragged into the outer bailey and now the task of bombarding the enormous tower would begin.

  De Montfort had watched the previous evening from the bridge gatehouse as the Kings Hall burnt and he knew there would be no surrender from the men within. His expression was grim as he realised time was now against him. The people in the Keep would be safe until the King arrived, unless he could do what King John had done. He also knew if de Clare was promised Blanche by the King he would change sides instantly. He stared at the round tower and sighed in frustration when his thoughts were interrupted.

  ‘My Lord!’