“I did not think you were deliberately leading me to my death,” Raymond said, grinning. “You would not do that without telling me in the fairest manner, as you told me, most truthfully, that there would be no loot in Wales.”
“Puppy!” William exclaimed, looking fondly at the young man and laughing at his teasing. “However, I have not told you all. Go get us something with which to break our fast and I will confess everything I learned in council. It is time for you to know.”
It was true that William knew a great deal more than he told Raymond or anyone else, for he was deep in the council of the Earl of Hereford. De Bohun, despite his youth and Richard’s fears, was no fool at all. He had guessed why Richard always knew what the lesser men were thinking. Hereford was a good leader and went out among his men, but he knew there was always some restraint in what they said to him. Probably they would warn him if what he intended would cause a disaster, but they were chary of offering too much advice lest they offend someone much mightier than themselves. Sir William, childhood friend and close companion of Earl Richard, had no such reservations. So Hereford had invited William to come to the war councils which were ordinarily reserved for the great vassals that held directly from the king.
Thus, William had all the news and a much wider view of the planning than the other minor knights. Now, only hours before the action was to begin, William felt free to describe the situation fully to Raymond.
“You have heard, I imagine, that the king was faced with a war from Scotland as well as this little business here in Wales,” William began, after a servant had brought them bowls of some cereal mush flavored with bits of salt meat and cheese.
“It was rumored about, yes,” Raymond answered. “Some of the men say it was agreed between David ap Llewelyn and King Alexander.”
“Perhaps, although I think ‘agreed’ is too strong a word. Having married the daughter of Ingelram de Coucy, Alexander was too swayed by his father-by-marriage’s proud talk and his offers of support. He cried defiance to Henry. David, most reasonably, chose to use Henry’s preoccupation with Scotland to accomplish his own ends without waiting for the slow and uncertain deliberations of the pope.”
“Does the war with the Scots go ill?” Raymond asked.
William shook his head. “Far to the contrary. Richard obtained the Count of Flanders’s support. With this and the levy and other mercenaries, the king marched north. Meanwhile, Ingelram had died in a most peculiar fashion. His son John upheld his father’s promise but the barons of the Cinque Ports were warned, ships were out, and the French were turned back.”
“I suppose that cooled Alexander’s ardor,” Raymond said.
“Yes, it did, more especially because John de Coucy made it plain that he had honored his father’s promise but did not agree with him and would do no more.”
“Then Henry had a clear victory?”
“You might call it that,” William said, laughing, “but no one did a lick for it, except my poor Richard, who rode back and forth between the parties until terms were agreed.”
“Then they did not fight.”
William laughed again at the disappointment in Raymond’s voice. “No, they did not.”
Raymond frowned. “But the king has been at considerable cost, I guess, to bring the Count of Flanders and his men here. What kind of victory can be won without a fight?”
“I do not know the terms of the peace,” William replied. “I can only guess that we are back where we were before Alexander cried defiance. Possibly Alexander will pay Henry’s costs. I do not know, but with the Scots, this peace will last a little longer, I hope, than one gained by force of arms. That is some advantage.”
The look of doubt on Raymond’s face, which must have mirrored his own, made William laugh aloud. “In any case,” he went on, “the peace with the Scots does not concern us, except that when the Welsh hear of it they will doubtless believe that Henry will bring the great army he has gathered here to use against them. Thus, they will divide into small parties and flee up into the mountains so that it is impossible to bring them to battle. No, do not shake your head. This is their practice.”
“But that will leave their lands defenseless,” Raymond began, and then started to laugh himself. “Where there is nothing to defend, I suppose it does not matter if the land be defenseless.”
William shrugged. “The older men tell me that large armies have repeatedly been driven out of Wales this way. A large army soon starves in this wilderness, and its spirit can be broken by harassment. There has been considerable surprise that we have been so little troubled by raids on the camp and arrows on the march. They think that David is not so skillful as his father and might be fooled. Thus, Hereford and Clare are agreed that we should spring this trap and see what comes of it. Indeed, if we wish to inflict any real hurt on them it must be within the next few days before they hear about the peace with Alexander.”
“We are to be bait?” Raymond asked.
“Yes, exactly. The men who know Welsh ways think there is a large force nearby. If we go into the village and seem intent on looting, we hope it will bring the large force down on us. They like to wipe out small detachments and then fade away into the woods. We must seem like a renegade group, carrying skins of wine, spread out over the village to loot, and seeming half drunk. Hopefully we will be too tempting a target to resist.”
Raymond’s brows shot up. “You say well. In such disorder, we will be slaughtered.”
“I hope not. As soon as they attack, you will fire the largest barn, which we will have soaked with oil—that is what will be in our ‘wineskins’. When the smoke from that is visible, and it should rise in minutes, Sir Mauger will bring his troops to our aid if we are engaged with a small group. If the main army should take the bait, Mauger will send signals to Hereford, who will be ready with the full army.”
“I am not accustomed to such actions,” Raymond said, but his eyes were bright with interest.
“Nor I,” William admitted. “I fought in Wales in my youth as Chester’s squire, but we were defending keeps in the usual way or sometimes raiding a village in retaliation. Still, the men who fought against old Prince Llewelyn think this is the best hope to draw the Welsh into battle.”
“I hope so,” Raymond replied, “but I cannot understand the need. They are brave men. I could see that when we engaged with them. Why then must they be tricked’ into battle. Why do they not attack us and drive us out?”
“There is sense in what they do,” William responded judiciously. “Wales has fewer people and they are not as well armed as we. They have few horses and are not trained to fighting on horseback. This mountainous country gives them easy shelter from which they can fall upon us and retreat to safety. Why should they risk losing all? I understand their practice worked well in the past. Why should they change? We must hope they are grown a little rusty. Otherwise, we will be ‘til winter chasing will-o’-the-wisps and gain nothing.”
“Well, I certainly do not desire that,” Raymond said, laughing, “so I had better get about preparing our surprise.”
William watched Raymond stride off purposefully and smiled. A real fire-eater that one, but sensible with it. It was a pleasure to see a young man enjoy a war so much. William’s smile broadened as he realized he was feeling much better himself. Nothing could assuage the pangs of love like the prospect of a good fight. His eyes grew thoughtful. He had a clear report on the village and felt he knew just where to make a stand safely until Mauger could bring up reinforcements and, if necessary, the main army could arrive. Now all that remained to do was confirm where Mauger would lie hidden and from what direction he would approach the village. They had discussed it already, but a last-minute review of plans never hurt.
The truth was that the matter had not been as fully discussed as it should have been. Ridiculous as it was, William felt embarrassed to accept Mauger’s support when he was Mauger’s wife’s lover. Yet he could not object when de Bohun had sug
gested Mauger. It was a most logical choice that longtime neighbors and friends support each other. Moreover, de Bohun wished to give his favorite squire’s father a chance to distinguish himself. William gritted his teeth over his distaste and began to walk toward Mauger’s encampment. He had stolen enough from the man. He would see that Mauger got all possible credit for the action if it was successful.
Chapter Ten
Somewhat earlier than he had intended to start, William watched the men he would lead form up. He was still chewing over the peculiar fact that Mauger had already been gone when he went to discuss the disposition of the troops with him. Mauger had not forgotten or become confused about the action, that was sure. A man had been left in the encampment with a message for William confirming all the plans that had been made—only the man was sick and, William feared, not too clever either.
“I do not like it,” Raymond said, as William gave him some last-minute instructions. “Why should he go off like that?”
“Eagerness,” William replied. “You know, Raymond, Mauger has very little experience of war because the abbey usually pays a fine instead of sending men. You saw that he was wild with joy when Hereford proposed this action to him.”
It was true, and Raymond said no more as he signaled the troop to start, but he disliked Mauger even while he realized the cause was ridiculous. There would have been more sense in disliking Aubery, but Raymond did not dislike Aubery, quite the contrary. In any case, he did not care whether this trick worked on the Welsh or not. He would prefer the war to continue. When it was over, he would have to decide about Alys, but there was plenty of good fighting weather left.
Mauger, sitting comfortably with his back to a tree, was contemplating the same fact with great pleasure. There was plenty of time to accomplish his purpose even if this trap did not work. It would certainly reduce the number of men in William’s troop, and that would increase William’s vulnerability. If not this action, then another—but William would die.
With the end so clearly in sight, Mauger was content to wait. He would be sweetly revenged, not only on William but on those two women. Imagine that slut of a girl saying she did not think it proper for her to marry Aubery because she did not love him as a woman should love a husband. And that ugly, sexless bitch of a wife—she would be well served.
Thinking about the women always made Mauger so angry that impatience stabbed him again. That man had too much luck, too much. Imagine a dog getting the goose. Then Mauger sighed. It was not William’s luck that had saved him but his own. That goose had been a stupid move. Someone would surely have whispered “poison”, and questions would have been asked. And that loose-tongued idiot of a son might have… Well, the question would never arise now.
Still, William had been lucky to get out of that brawl. No, that was not so much luck as the stupidity of the mercenaries, or of Egbert. He had given his fool of a man a good knock for not telling them specifically that they should not act unless William was unarmed, but they should have known that themselves. It was the mail that had saved him. And who would expect men to be “practicing” at arms in the middle of a war? That last escape from the arrow was plain luck though, but the luck must be growing a little thin. The arrow had caught him in the arm.
There was no use regretting it, Mauger told himself. It was a good idea, but this way was really much better. This time should do it. All that was necessary was to come too late, and he had set himself up as a sitting duck for attack. He was pretty sure that the Welsh knew the whole plan, the prisoner he had allowed to escape spoke French pretty well. And if William was only wounded, it would be most natural for his friend and neighbor to carry him off the field to safety. One more wound would never be noticed, and William would be dead before any leech saw him.
William’s troop approached the village with care, as a raiding party should, but the truth was that their eyes and ears were more attuned to the woodland beyond the small fields than to the village itself. Their personal experience and the hearsay evidence of men who had fought the Welsh in the past was that the ambushing party would come from the woods after having ascertained that the troop was not too large to attack safely. What was more, the signs of recent habitation gave, to their suspicious minds, the implication that an attempt was being made to fix their attention on the village itself.
Inside the huts of the outermost ring the men found skins lying on the floor as if thrown off a sleeper, stones and ashes still warm from where a fire had died. William nodded at this information. Obviously a few men must have been at the village watching to see if the bait would be taken. Unfortunately the signs could also easily mean the trap had been abandoned when news of Mauger’s movement was received. William signed for the worn and filthy skins and a few dented and cracked drinking vessels and bowls to be collected. It was scarcely the kind of loot worth taking, but it was all they were likely to get.
They moved in toward the center of the village. There was one house finer than the others and the large barn they intended to fire as their signal that they were under attack. Near the house were storage sheds and a few neater huts, probably the homes of upper servants. William had kept the troop well together up to this point, sending small groups with Raymond to investigate each hut while the others waited. Now, however, he had to allow the men to act as if a fever for loot had seized him and them.
It made William very uneasy to relax control over the men, but he knew it was necessary if he wanted to draw out the ambushers. Reluctantly he gave the order to disperse. Raymond led about one-half the troop to the main house. The others broke up and ran toward the huts. Within minutes a cry rang from one of the nearest. William’s hand flew to his sword hilt, but there was no sound of a fight and the man, made honest by surprise, rushed out to display a ring he had found. It was a cheap, brass thing, but it was worth a few mils.
It was amazing that such a thing should be left behind.
Before William could comment, two more shouts of success rang out, one from the house and another from a hut at the far end. One thing he had not considered was that the Welsh might be clever enough to leave a few things of value. It did not need to be much. After the long period in which the men had no extra reward at all for the fighting beyond their pay, any trinket would be likely to raise a feverish hope of more valuable loot, which would make them reluctant to stop searching and thus slow to obey orders. And the devil was in it that he dared not call them to order now, before the trap was sprung. Any indication of special wariness on his part might well cause those lying in wait to melt away into the woods without attacking.
A man had run out of the house now and was speaking excitedly to Raymond. He gave an order William could not hear and then looked uneasily toward the barn, which was to the northeast of the house.
Another few minutes passed. William swept the perimeter of the woods with his eyes. By rights, the trap should be sprung now. The men were all dispersed and intent upon their search. There was another yell of joy from the huts. William looked around as far as he could see. Still nothing, but the barn blocked his view. He touched Lion with his heel and moved toward the barn. His eyes flicked over it, but not with a very searching scrutiny. The doors stood wide, as they had been left when the stock was driven out. The upper doors, through which hay was loaded, also were open.
William’s eyes were already moving past the barn toward the new strip of woodland border he could now see when that second set of doors stuck in his mind.
He turned his head for another look. Open? For what? There were no sheaves lying ready to be raised. The first haying was in ricks, the second growth of hay was still standing uncut in the fields. He could see it. Why should the loading doors be open when there was nothing to put in or take out?
“Arnald!” William bellowed, turning his head toward the huts.
Simultaneously, he lifted his shield away from his body to draw his sword with more ease. Everything happened in that moment. There was a thrumming. Lion screame
d and reared. William screamed also, as pain lanced into his left shoulder and his right side. He struggled to control his destrier, to bring him down, but it was too late. More arrows flew from the treacherously open doors. Caught in the throat, Lion plunged to his knees, blood pouring from his pierced jugular. Instinctively William pushed his legs forward to counteract the angle, and both stirrups broke, pitching him over the horse’s head before the animal toppled over on its side.
The peculiar accident saved William’s life. Rather than being pinned under Lion, he was able to roll free. Then it was possible to crouch behind the horse’s body with his shield over him. This kept him from being finished by another shower of arrows. William realized that he was a dead man if he could not rid himself of the long arrow shafts. One would prevent him from swinging his sword, the other from holding his shield close enough to protect him.
Balancing his sword on his knees, he gripped the shaft of the arrow in his shoulder and pulled. Tears burst from his eyes and he bit a bloody gash in his lip. Worse than the pain was the knowledge that the effort had been useless. He had felt his collarbone give with the pull. The arrow was lodged. Even as his mind accepted this his hand had pulled down sharply. That time he screamed again, but the shaft broke short.
There were other voices now. War whoops from the Welsh, shouts of consternation and warning further away. Sobbing with pain, William gripped his sword again, bent his head lower to keep it under the shield, let go the handgrip, and grasped the second arrow shaft. There was no reason in what he did. If he could have thought beyond his own agony, his mind would have told him he was going to die anyway and it was irrational to inflict further pain on himself.
Habit ruled, however. The long years of training had imprinted patterns on him, patterns that taught him to ignore pain, to continue fighting as long as he was capable of moving at all. Without much conscious volition, William’s left hand pulled sharply on the shaft. Black swirled before his eyes as the flesh tore, and his head dropped still lower. A yell of triumph sounded somewhere above him. He released the loose shaft of the arrow to fumble blindly for the handgrip of his shield. He knew it was too late to lift the shield and ward off the blow, but he hardly regretted the coming stroke that would sever his head from his body and sure all ills.
Siren Song Page 15
