Blood on the Sand

by Michael Jecks

  ‘Fetch a bucket of water,’ Berenger said to the Donkey.

  Ed wanted to demand why he should obey him, but the grim expression on Berenger’s face dissuaded him. He walked away at the slowest speed he could to demonstrate his independence, but fast enough to ensure that he didn’t earn a buffet about the head. The vintener was demanding too much. And Ed would let him know soon. He wasn’t the vintaine’s slave, he was apprentice to a gynour. He had more knowledge already about the making of powder and its use than any of the vintaine’s men.

  Walking back, he saw Béatrice talking to the new woman. He eyed Georges’ mother with jealousy. She had taken all of Béatrice’s time since she arrived. Now Ed hardly ever had a chance to speak to Béatrice himself. It was a constant source of annoyance.

  He saw Béatrice glance at him and smile, and suddenly the sun seemed to shine. He ran to fetch the water, and brought it back to Berenger, who didn’t even say thank you. He could cheerfully have tipped it over the vintener’s feet.

  But just at that moment there was a pause in the chatter. Then, ‘Sweet Jesus, Clip,’ Berenger said, wincing. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Er . . . I had a bit of an accident.’

  Jack was stepping away. ‘God’s blood, man! What sort of an accident?’

  Ed could see Clip’s eyes moving about shiftily. ‘I fell into a latrine,’ he mumbled.

  ‘How?’ Jack demanded.

  ‘Which one?’ John asked.

  ‘Who pushed you?’ Berenger said with more perception.

  Berenger sent Clip to soak himself in the surf and wash his clothes. Meanwhile, he explained what had happened.

  Berenger kicked the man’s foot. ‘Who are you? Who sent you to waylay me? I said, who are you?’

  The snoring had all but ceased, so Berenger upended the bucket of stagnant green pondwater over the man’s head.

  He awoke and sat up angrily, trying to shake the water from his face and hair like a dog leaving a river, but a boot in his chest kept him on the ground. ‘What is this?’

  ‘My question precisely,’ Berenger said. ‘Who are you? Why did you attack me?’

  The man’s little blue eyes darted around as though hopeful of finding an escape. He was not, Berenger reckoned, as bright as the other fellow. ‘I didn’t attack anyone.’

  With a sigh, Berenger leaned down and pushed the man’s head back until the sore patch where the maul had hit his skull touched the stones of the pathway. Then he pushed twice, hard. ‘Answer me.’

  ‘Aargh! Stop! Very well, it was Sir Peter of Bromley who told us all about you.’

  ‘I asked who you are, and which centener or banneret do you serve?’

  ‘All right! God shrivel your ballocks! My name is Willie. Some call me Willie Armstrong, others know me as Willie of Durham.’ He bared his teeth.

  ‘Very good, Willie. Why did you try to kill me?’

  ‘We know you’re a traitor, and we were going to punish you. But touch me now, and Dick will have you arrested under martial law.’ He spat at Berenger’s feet. ‘You can’t touch me – not if you want to live.’

  Berenger narrowed his eyes. It was alarming to learn that some already viewed the vintaine as treacherous. ‘Dick was your courageous friend?’

  ‘You can kill me, but you’ll still die.’

  ‘You say Sir Peter told you I was a traitor?’

  ‘Yes. Last night.’

  ‘Why would he say that, Frip?’ John said.

  Berenger ignored him. ‘So you are in his host with him?’

  ‘No, we’re from the force with Sir John Cobham. But we know Sir Peter.’

  ‘That can’t be right,’ Jack said. ‘Why would he assume you were guilty of treachery or anything?’

  ‘It’s like I told you: Grandarse warned me last night that there could be something like this.’

  Jack indicated their prisoner, who now sat up, holding his throbbing head. ‘What do you want us to do with that piece of shit?’

  ‘Let him go. He’s no use to us.’

  ‘What – not kill him?’ Dogbreath demanded. ‘He tried to kill you, Frip, after all. We may as well stop him reporting things to his companions.’

  ‘You want to kill him?’ Berenger asked.

  ‘Wait!’ the man said. ‘You harm me and Dick will report you.’

  ‘Oh, as to that,’ Berenger smiled, ‘my lads will swear they were never here. I was set upon by two outlaws and one of them was killed. That’s you,’ he added in his most patronising manner. ‘You are of no use to us, but we cannot trust someone who might try something again in future.’

  ‘You can’t kill me like that! I haven’t done anything except try to protect the army.’

  ‘You did it by trying to kill me. I’m happy to return the favour.’

  ‘I may be able to help you.’ The man was less cocky now.

  ‘How?’ Berenger hefted the maul thoughtfully. It was massy, and with its weight, could easily crush a skull. He let it slap into the palm of his hand, enjoying the wince the fellow gave as he heard it.

  ‘It’s not only us think you’re guilty. It’s the rest of Sir John’s men, and Sir Peter’s too. It’s obvious!’ His eyes suddenly widened as Jack’s knife appeared in front of him. ‘Sir John was the one who said someone should remove you. It wasn’t our idea. You need to talk to him. Kill me and you won’t make yourself any safer, but if you speak with him, you may. I can help you – I can explain you’re innocent too. I can—’

  Jack spoke very quietly. ‘There’s no point keeping him alive, is there? Just let me do him, Frip.’

  ‘Why do you say it’s obvious?’ Berenger said, ignoring him. ‘What is “obvious”?’

  Willie was not ignoring him. His eyes were fixed on the blade with terror. A trickle ran from between his legs. ‘Someone must be betraying our secrets to the French, and you were all allowed to escape from them. Why did they let you out and then give you a safe passage on a Genoese ship, if you didn’t tell them what they wanted to hear?’

  ‘Very good. Let him go, Jack,’ Berenger said. ‘Willie, if you ever lift a maul or a knife to me again, I’ll kill you. No arguing or discussion, I’ll just stick you. Understand?’ He waited until Willie had given a nod. Then, ‘Tell your friends that we’re not spies. We’re only doing the same job as you. You’re supposed to be on our side!’

  ‘You should have let us kill him,’ Dogbreath muttered as they returned to their rooms.

  ‘It wouldn’t have achieved anything,’ Berenger said.

  They had left the man sagging like a sack of turnips. He had not believed that they would allow him to live, not after his attempt to waylay Berenger, and after his rudeness about the vintaine. As they walked away, he had essayed a jeer or two, but it lacked conviction.

  ‘I’d have felt better for it,’ Clip said. He was still damp after scrubbing himself violently in the sea, but a certain odour continued to surround him. The others avoided him.

  ‘What now, Frip?’ Jack said.

  Berenger looked out through the open door. ‘I don’t know. I wish I did.’

  ‘Can you speak with Sir John?’ Jack suggested. ‘Perhaps he can persuade Sir Peter that he’s mistaken.’

  ‘Yes,’ Berenger said. He recalled Sir Peter of Bromley’s expression in the meeting, he had not bothered to conceal his disgust for Berenger and his vintaine. It was something that Grandarse had noticed too, Berenger was sure; it was no mere figment of his imagination. ‘I don’t trust him, Sir Peter, or Sir Pierre, whatever he wants to be called. He must have had a reason to accuse us and put us in danger.’

  ‘What, you believe that scrote Willie? Do you really think Sir Peter was responsible for this attack on you?’ Jack said.

  ‘I think it’s very possible.’

  ‘If there’s a traitor, it’s more likely to be someone like him,’ Clip said unexpectedly.

  ‘What?’ Berenger asked with surprise.

  ‘It makes more sense, a nobleman, rather than a chur
l like you or me. We’d not give away our mates in the line. What archer would betray his friend? But a lord or a knight, well, they only fight for money, when all’s said and done. If they were offered enough . . .’

  ‘Don’t you think that they’d find it as hard as you or me to see their companions caught or killed?’ Berenger said.

  ‘Them?’ Clip said. ‘They are used to fighting each other all the time. And they know that if they get caught, they can claim the right to be looked after and just pay a ransom. They value each other’s lives, but as I said, they’re used to fighting each other. Us? We’re just meat to be cut up.’

  ‘I think the Genoese was right,’ John of Essex said. ‘He gets paid for his work, and that means he is looked on as being worth something. Look at us, we get nothing.’

  Jack had listened carefully. ‘You’re talking shite, man!’

  ‘You really think so?’ The Earl lifted his own head to join in. ‘Think on this, then: when you and I are standing side by side in the front rank of archers, there’s no chance we’d risk each other’s lives, is there? But a knight, he’ll still go out in front of the rest to show he’s not scared. He doesn’t care about the strength of the line or his friends, all he cares about is his own personal honour and the money he can win. That’s all.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re saying,’ Berenger scoffed. ‘But I still don’t trust Sir Peter.’

  ‘What do you want to do about him?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Nothing, for now. We’ll have to keep an eye on him, though. If he’s telling other people that I’m a traitor and deserve to be removed quietly, we’ll have to be careful. Tell the vintaine to keep together, Jack. No wandering about alone until we know what’s happening.’

  ‘I understand.’

  And in the meantime I’ll try to raise the matter with Sir John, Berenger thought.

  The Vidame slipped along the street with the easy confidence of a man who knew he was safe here. He was almost at his door when a sudden low whisper made him spring aside and reach for his knife.

  ‘It’s me – Bertucat!’

  ‘I could have gutted you for that,’ the Vidame hissed. His blood was still popping and fizzing in his veins after the shock.

  ‘Then you’d have lost a loyal servant who may one day save your skin,’ Bertucat growled. ‘You think I like creeping about in the shadows, when all the while you’re—’

  ‘Enough!’ The Vidame shot a look about him, then joined his servant in the dark doorway of a closed shop. ‘What is it?’

  ‘The two lummocks tried to kill Fripper, but he bested them. Next time it would be better to have two men with brains rather than only muscles between their ears.’

  ‘He bested them both? By my faith, I’d have hoped one could spring a surprise on him, let alone two.’

  ‘He’s been warned now. The bastard won’t be so easy to surprise next time.’

  The Vidame nodded grimly. ‘Did you manage to speak to your friend?’

  ‘About the messenger? Yes.’

  ‘Before he leaves, make sure he is aware that there will be a bonus if he can remove Fripper. I do not want that vintener to return here. He is too clever by half and will get in our way and make our task that much harder.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘And make sure that the man understands one more thing: I do not want any slip-ups!’

  Sir John was in his chamber, his whetstone in one hand, a long-bladed sword in the other when Berenger knocked and entered.

  ‘I’m glad to see you. Did Grandarse come back with you?’ Sir John asked as he set his sword aside.

  ‘Grandarse?’

  ‘I sent him to find you, Fripper. Isn’t that why you’re here?’

  ‘No,’ Berenger said, ‘I wanted to talk because . . .’

  ‘I don’t have time. You are to gather your vintaine and prepare to depart. There’s a fishing boat ready to take you over the Channel.’

  Berenger stared. ‘What? Why? Where are we going?’

  ‘You guessed aright when you spoke before Earl Warwick. You were very persuasive – you certainly convinced Sir Peter. The French ships are still nowhere in sight. The view of the Bishop and the Earl is the same as mine: the ships were either to come here, or they were designed to bring succour to our enemies. After all, as you said, the only conceivable place where they could head is Scotland. If they arrive there unannounced, and there are significant troops on board, it could prove a disaster for us. We cannot afford to risk the Siege of Calais, but we must warn the Northern Marches of their danger. You will go with your men to inform them that they are to be attacked, and give them instructions as to how to deploy their men.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘You will sail as soon as the shipmaster thinks he can safely leave, and when you reach England, you must procure horses and ride north with all haste. The ships left yesterday, so they have some head start on you, but your route is direct. They will have to land in the north, ride to meet the Scottish, persuade them to join in their venture, and then march for the border. That will take them time. With fortune, you will already be in Durham and waiting for them. Is that all clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘All I want you to do is warn them, then come back here.’

  ‘Sir, all this could be done, and faster, by sending one of the King’s messengers.’

  ‘And it will be. You are there to ensure that that messenger reaches the Archbishop of York safely. It’ll be on your head if you don’t.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Sir John took a mazer and filled it from a pot of wine. He turned to Berenger. ‘There is talk going round that you or one of your vintaine is a traitor.’

  ‘Who dares say that?’ Berenger said angrily.

  ‘Sir Peter of Bromley seems to think so. He it was who proposed that your vintaine should be sent. He said that if the messenger doesn’t reach the Archbishop, that will confirm many in their opinion that you are not as dedicated to your King as you should be.’

  ‘He says I am a traitor?’

  Sir John peered at him over the brim of his cup. ‘Some think so. So do not fail!’

  They were ready early the next morning. As dawn broke, Berenger was already leading the men to the eastern shores, where Sir John had told him to meet the vessel that was to take them over the Channel.

  ‘Sir John,’ Berenger greeted him as they walked into the little harbour.

  ‘Fripper, I hope I see you well. Godspeed with this mission.’

  Sir John was not happy to be leaving Berenger like this. It felt too much like throwing a good man to the wolves, but the knight knew that he had little choice in the matter: Fripper had been selected. However, Sir John noticed that Sir Peter had taken a strong dislike to the vintener, and Sir John had no idea why. ‘You will take every precaution, Fripper. Look after this messenger as though he possesses your own life.’

  ‘I don’t understand . . .’ Berenger began, but then there came the sound of marching feet and the men all stood up straight in respect.

  The King, Edward III, was no youngster. He had been born in November 1312, but for a man in his middle thirties, he showed little of the paunch most would own by then. His pale blue eyes were restless, as though there were too many other duties which called on his attention. And yet he had come here, Sir John thought. It was a proof of how important the King considered this mission to be.

  ‘Master Fripper,’ the King said, walking straight over to Berenger.

  Berenger bowed.

  ‘Rise, my friend. We are all comrades here. You have been briefed about this? Good. I would speak with your men.’

  Standing aside, Berenger called to his vintaine to listen.

  ‘My friends, you have a most urgent and important task. In the last two days, a fleet of French ships have slipped their moorings and sailed north. There can be no doubt where they are heading: they are aiming for Scotland. They hope, so we hear, to bring fire and bloodshed to the N
orthern Marches. By these means, they believe they can break the back of our men here in France. Imagine! They think that a campaign of terror on our northern borders will check our advance here, and that we will wish to depart this shore, to defend our wives and children at home. And indeed, if there was a need for us to get back home and see to our families, we would do so. But, my friends, there is no need. So long as the good Archbishop of York and others set to defend our realm are given due warning, our English levies will stop the Scottish advance and turn them around, sending those who still have legs to walk on back to their hills and bogs without halting for breath!

  ‘My message to those craven souls who think that any news of an attack in the north must force us to abandon this siege is: it will not. For were we to try to escape here, what would be the result? The French army would inevitably attack our rear as we boarded our vessels. The enemy waits only for a moment’s weakness. In that instant they will fall on us in force.

  ‘So we must remain here. And remember that the Scottish are a weak force. They do not have the strong men who once could lead them against we English. All you need do is hurry there, warn those who guard the north, and let them battle their foes.’

  Berenger watched the eyes of his vintaine as the King spoke, and now that there seemed to be a pause, he nodded meaningfully to Jack, who began to cheer and cry ‘Huzzah!’ Falteringly, the others joined in.

  ‘And now, I wish you all Godspeed. I pray that you have a safe journey, and that you return here in good time to join in the sack of Calais when we capture the town!’

  Aye, thought Berenger sourly. Unless all goes to the Devil in Scotland, in which case best not to return at all, except carried on a shield.

  The King nodded to the men, and as he left, Jack kept up his frantic applause until Edward was out of sight and earshot.