Deus Militis - Soldiers of God

by Jonathan A Longmore

  De Capo crouched in front of his prisoner and the two men looked at each other in silence. He felt no pity or remorse for the prisoner but equally he was not a savage despite the trauma his conscience was suffering. He stood, walked to a small water barrel in the corner and returned with a full ladle holding it to Bradyn’s lips. Bradyn frowned at the gesture but took the water gratefully. De Capo threw the ladle back towards the barrel and crouched in front of the injured man again.

  Bradyn spoke first, ‘You knew I could not mention the real reason we are here in front of your men.’

  De Capo pursed his lips in thought before he replied, ‘I would have been surprised if you had. Secrets that your Order have kept for so long are not that easily revealed.’

  ‘You have a scroll,’ Bradyn said, ‘it must be handed over.’

  De Capo’s eyes gleamed in the flickering light, ‘I will burn it before I let your people have it.’

  ‘I understand your despair,’ said Bradyn, ‘but destroying it would be a mistake.’

  ‘You understand nothing about how I feel,’ de Capo hissed, ‘now tell me what your orders were.’

  Bradyn looked at de Capo and slowly nodded, ‘For a quick death, I will tell you.’

  ‘You bargain with your life?’

  ‘Or I will die in silence,’ Bradyn said softly.

  ‘You have my word,’ said de Capo reluctantly, ‘a quick death for the truth, how did you know we were here?’

  Bradyn sighed and looked at the floor, ‘We have many spies, and it was not hard to learn where you had gone, and it was no secret you had been asked to hold this castle. ’

  ‘So you joined de Clare’s army to take this castle.’

  ‘Aye, but it has been harder than anyone thought, Reynaud does not believe the Keep will fall. The Grand Master only gave him one year, and half is already passed. He is here for the scroll, and you!’

  ‘He still seeks revenge?’

  Bradyn looked up into de Capo’s face, ‘If he couldn’t have you, he would have taken what you love the most.’

  ‘Blanche?’

  ‘His plan was simple,’ explained Bradyn, ‘remove Blanche and you would have come after her. If we had you both we had the scroll. You would not have let her be harmed, you would have given up the scroll for her,’ Bradyn smiled, ‘even I would have given it up for her!’

  ‘You were here for Blanche?’

  Bradyn shook his head, ‘I was here for Erasmus and the scroll, but Reynaud knew how much de Clare wanted the Lady. The plan to take Blanche was always a risk and would only work if there was a truce, and it could have worked if you had not released that bolt.’

  ‘You think I would have let her leave with him?’

  Bradyn nodded, ‘To save her life? Yes.’

  ‘So Blanche died because de Chauvigny wanted his revenge!’

  ‘Aye,’ admitted Bradyn, ‘he wants your head, but he needs the scroll, and he will not give up, he will hunt you until he gets what he wants, that is his way.’

  De Capo pulled his dagger from its sheath, stood and walked behind Bradyn.

  ‘When this siege is over,’ said Bradyn as he waited for the blade to end his life, ‘he will be waiting for you, wherever you go he will find you!’

  ‘One thing,’ said de Capo as he stood behind Bradyn with the dagger in his hand, ‘If he did not think the Keep would fall, why did he put you in here, why not wait until after the siege, he must know I would leave?’

  ‘If I could not find the scroll, I was to gain your trust, offer my services and go where you went.’

  ‘But Erasmus knew you….’ De Capo fell silent as he realised for that to work Erasmus would have to die.

  ‘A spy and an assassin,’ he grabbed Bradyn’s hair and pulled his head back exposing his throat, ‘You kept your word,’ he said as he pushed Bradyn’s head forward and cut through the ropes binding his hands.

  Bradyn gasped as the pain caused by the blood rushing into his hands took him by surprise.

  De Capo picked up the ladle and gave Bradyn another drink.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Bradyn croaked as the pain in his hands started to recede.

  ‘You die when I say you die,’ de Capo said harshly, ‘when you are no longer any use to me!’

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Simon de Montfort received the news in silence. His face betrayed his anger and frustration at being beaten without actually losing the battle. For five days the siege engines had pounded the Keep and only caused superficial damage to the great stone tower. The mining had been progressing well but now Prince Edward was on his way from Nottingham, everything had changed. Here was not where he wanted to fight the Kings army. The barons had control of London and most of the south. It was possible Edward would attack London first and de Montfort made the decision to leave a small force at the castle and make his way back to London to protect his asset there. It had not been a good five days; apart from the mining there had been no other progress. The men were getting restless and he had been forced to hang men for looting and raping after he had given the order for them to stop. He still needed the people on his side and treating them like conquered subjects was not going to win him any friends. The Bishop pestered him every day for the recompense he believed he was owed. Now it was clear the Keep would not fall, he demanded payment from de Montfort himself.

  The Earl gave an order, ‘If the Bishop demands to see me once more, the man who allows him access will lose his right hand!’

  Never again did the Bishop manage to gain an audience.

  His interest in de Chauvigny and the mysterious scroll had been cast aside. His prize was England and nothing would detract him from that purpose. De Clare argued with de Montfort about leaving but when de Montfort drew his sword and stepped towards him with the blade pointing at his face he backed down. The look on de Montfort’s face was absolute anger and the men present knew a line had been crossed. That evening De Clare stood and stared at the Keep and Humfrey could only watch and wonder at what he was thinking.

  ~

  On the twenty sixth day of April, the siege engines were dismantled, placed on their carts and hauled away. De Capo and his loyal commanders stood on top of the Keep watching the rebel armies preparing to leave Rochester. Inside the Keep the remains of the garrison crowded the windows and loop holes to see what was happening. There was no cheering and the mood was sombre in both camps. A lot of men had died for no reason. Three hundred men were left to contain the Keep. They were ordered to remain until the main body of the army returned, or the King arrived.

  ‘The King must have been sighted,’ said Sir Roger. ‘We have achieved a great victory for England.’ He smiled and stood tall not realising no one smiled with him.

  ‘It’s not over yet,’ de Capo said, ‘we are still outnumbered and still trapped, nothing changes.’

  ‘But they’ve stopped mining,’ said Henry, ‘and the trebuchets are going, this isn’t just a temporary thing.’

  ‘No,’ agreed de Capo, ‘but if they defeat the King we will have to make a choice.’

  ‘My choice will be to sally out and slaughter the bastards,’ said FitzAlan, ‘three to one are good odds, those bastards will run, King or no King.’

  ‘We wait,’ ordered de Capo coldly. ‘No more of our men will die!’

  He scanned the city looking for de Chauvigny and was rewarded with the distant figure of the man and his great shaggy beard standing on the bridge gatehouse staring back up at him. Only Ranulf noticed the antagonism traversing the distance between the two men. He watched in silence until de Chauvigny disappeared into the gate house.

  Ranulf walked across and stood beside de Capo, ‘He will never give up will he?’

  De Capo stared across the city, ‘No.’

  By nightfall de Montfort’s army crossed the bridge and headed along the old Roman Road towards London. De Clare’s army headed east toward Canterbury where de Clare had decided to vent his anger and frustration b
y persecuting the Jews; mimicking de Montfort’s persecution of the Jews in Leicester. The three hundred that were left watched and waited.

  In the Keep the wounded continued to die despite the best efforts of the monks and despite the skills Erasmus had learnt from his time in the Holy Land. They were laid to rest in the dungeons, but the flesh still rotted and the stench still travelled upwards. Every shuttered window, every window that had glass in it was either opened or smashed to allow the smell to dissipate and allow the fresh unsullied air to flow through all the floors.

  The morning saw de Capo, again standing on top of the Keep with his arms crossed as he stared down at the men de Montfort had left behind. He hadn’t slept properly and his face was drawn showing the exhaustion he couldn’t shake off. ‘No one left three hundred fighting men behind unless they planned to return’, he thought.

  They were all foot soldiers with a few archers, no horses apart from the ones de Chauvigny had. The siege was by no means over yet, not until they could all walk into the outer bailey without risk of being attacked. He looked towards the Bridge gatehouse and saw half a dozen men guarding the bridge, of de Chauvigny there was no sign. Over the top of the cathedral he saw men near the east gate with horses and assumed they were de Chauvigny’s men carrying out the daily tasks of tending their horses and checking equipment.

  That he could not see de Chauvigny started to concern him, but he knew that concern was irrational. De Chauvigny was a man, a cruel and evil man, but still a man and even he could not breach the wall of the Keep when it was locked. However that knowledge did not prevent de Capo from looking behind him as the fear of treachery started to fill his thoughts.

  He felt weary and thought about the last time he stood on the Keep with Blanche. He closed his eyes and felt the tears slipping through his closed eyelids. He snapped his eyes open and tried to concentrate on the task at hand. The breeze quickly dried the tears sliding down his cheeks, he took a deep breath and leant forwards, both hands resting on the crenulations.

  ‘If the worst happens, you cannot allow them to take me alive!’

  De Capo jumped, startled by the voice and he looked to his side to see Erasmus come into view. The priest stood beside him and took a deep breath, ‘If they take me I cannot promise not to talk.’

  ‘I made that promise to you once before,’ said de Capo, ‘it still stands, do not worry Father, I will kill you if necessary.’

  ‘Just don’t be too hasty,’ said Erasmus quickly, ‘I will ask God to make sure your decision is sound before you decide to dispose of me.’

  De Capo gave a hint of a smile as Erasmus made his way back into the Keep. He sensed a presence behind him and turned to find FitzAlan standing by the northwest tower. To his knowledge the man had only rested once, when they first retreated into the Keep. His energy and his roughness had attracted him to all the men. He was loud and sharp with his orders and called the men all the names he could think of but they loved him. He had fought and bled with them and he laughed with them as well. He showed no fear and he heard men say they wanted to fight where he was because they believed him invincible. He was a plain speaker and de Capo nodded at him and waited to hear what pleasures would come out of his mouth this time.

  ‘I’ve always found it strange you travel with a priest,’ FitzAlan said as he approached him.

  ‘These are strange times.’

  ‘Parasites!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Parasites,’ repeated FitzAlan, ‘these men who claim to be pious and holy, you best be careful, they’ll bleed you dry and ask for more.’

  ‘You don’t like priests?’

  FitzAlan spat on the floor, ‘Can’t stand the bastards, priests, monks, friars, bishops and archbishops, even the holy father himself who sits on his lazy arse in Rome. The church is run by leeches, you just be careful, once they have you in their grasp they don’t let go.’

  De Capo nodded and tried hard not to smile, ‘Aye, I’ll be careful.’

  ‘I mean it,’ FitzAlan’s eyes narrowed and he moved closer and whispered in his ear, ‘once they have you, they won’t let you go, just be careful.’

  ‘I’ll be careful,’ said de Capo.

  ‘And I’m sorry about Blanche,’ FitzAlan placed a huge hand on de Capo’s shoulder and squeezed. They looked into each other’s eyes but neither man spoke. The look was enough and de Capo just gave a small nod of the head to the huge warrior and he nodded back, turned and walked away.

  The following day passed without incident in the Keep although the same couldn’t be said for the rebels left behind. Now the siege engines had been removed and the bulk of the armies marched away, the remaining rebels had neither the desire nor the men to try and force their way into the Keep. Within the Keep time was passing slowly and the monotony was dangerous as men started to lose their temper. To alleviate the boredom the archers and crossbowmen started a wager to see who could hit the most rebels. Each man put in a silver penny and at the end of twelve hours the man with the highest score would collect. A head shot scored was considered a bull’s-eye with a torso being the inner ring and all other parts of the body the outer ring. As word of the competition filtered through the Keep so people started to place their own wagers on their favourite man. De Capo gave his approval as did Sir Roger; as long as the bolts and arrows weren’t wasted the wagers could continue.

  Day turned into night and Evelyn still held her vigil over Blanche. The smell of death seemed to have reached a peak, or it could have been simply that people were starting to get used to it, either way the smell of roasting pig meat cooking in the huge fireplaces started to mix with all the other smells making it bearable.

  The defenders settled down for the night and both sides seemed to have a mutual understanding there would be no forays. No one wanted to die now and once again a strange peace settled over Rochester.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  De Capo slept fitfully. He had taken advantage of an offer from Sir Roger to rest in his quarters on the first floor. No sooner had he removed his sword and lain on the straw filled mattress than he finally succumbed to the exhaustion of the past few days. He fell into a deep but nightmare filled sleep. Images of a faceless knight with cloven hoofs hacking children to pieces invaded his subconscious. The children screamed for their mothers who had been crucified, their stomachs cut open and their entrails pulled out to hang down past their nailed feet. Their mutilated bodies nailed to crosses protruding from the ground in front of a mound of dead babies and infants growing steadily higher. The mothers all had contorted faces and Baktamar appeared on a donkey and tried to stop the slaughter with a crossbow that fired pieces of broken sticks. He was held back by a group of monks who all looked like Erasmus, pulled him off the donkey and stood above him screaming in his face, ‘It has to be this way!’ De Capo tried to help but his legs were chained and his sword was broken. Hashim was screaming for Allah’s help and as De Capo struggled with the chains cutting into his ankles he heard another scream and turned to see de Chauvigny slashing with his sword at the naked body of a woman. The woman had no face, just a raw seeping mass where her flesh had been ripped away, but he knew it was Blanche. He fell to his knees and screamed as the cloven hoofed knight lifted a staff and snapped it in half before plunging the broken ends into the body of a decapitated priest.

  ‘Ralf!’

  He heard the voice calling him and tried to answer but realised his tongue had been cut out and he could only scream……

  ‘Ralf!’

  The voice was louder and the fear was vanishing……

  ‘Ralf, for the love of God wake up!’

  His eyes snapped open and he found Ranulf standing beside him staring with a worried look on his face, ‘You’re crying in your sleep!’

  ‘What?’ De Capo felt his face, it was wet and he realised tears were still running down his cheeks. He sat up and wiped his face, instantly embarrassed to be found like that, ‘A nightmare,’ he explained hurriedly.
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  Ranulf picked up De Capo’s sword and handed it to him, the worried look had been replaced by one of mutual understanding, ‘We all have them; some worse than others.’

  De Capo nodded and sighed as he took the sword and stood facing away from Ranulf. He picked up a blanket and wiped his face again, no one wanted to see a knight crying, even if it was beyond his control. He tried not to think about the dreams which invaded his rest, the memories were stronger than they should have been, far too strong for his liking. He tried to clear his head but his mind kept returning to the dream that seemed far too real, he closed his eyes and shivered as he managed to push the images away, ‘How long have I been asleep?’

  ‘Long enough,’ Ranulf replied as he grinned widely.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘They’re here,’ said Ranulf.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Prince Edward,’ explained Ranulf, ‘his standard flies across the river. De Montfort’s men have all but left, their pickets arrived early this morning and there are but a few stragglers left, leaving the city as I speak.’

  De Capo rubbed his eyes and shook his head as he tried to absorb what Ranulf was telling him, ‘It’s over?’

  Ranulf smiled, ‘Aye, it’s over, we survived.’ He held the door open, ‘Prince Edward will chase the rebels down; he’ll want to make a few examples before we go after the rest.’

  They entered the Fore building and together walked down the entrance steps and through the guard tower into the inner bailey. Behind them the bodies of the men who had died inside the Keep were being carried out and taken to the outer bailey where they were unceremoniously loaded onto carts. The men who had fallen and died during the battles had already been carted off by the rebels to a pit outside the city and buried, enemies in life they entered the next world together as equals.

  Ranulf and De Capo climbed the steps to the west curtain wall and walked parallel to the river bank. The Sheriffs flag flew next to the Kings on the Keep as it had always done and the garrison survivors started to check the castle and the gate house and begin the task of clearing the mess and detritus left by the invaders. The remains of the civilian population wandered about the city looking for anything they could salvage before the mammoth task of rebuilding began. The two knights stood silently together and watched as Sir Roger, Sir John and Sir Henry walked across the bridge to meet with Prince Edward.