by Jack Ludlow
Albert Sterz was to the fore of the host under a banner many times the size of any he led, the look of disbelief maintained even up to the point where he dismounted to survey the scene and demand an explanation. Hawkwood had learnt, once the contracts were signed and any wooing ceased, that he was naturally irascible, a trait which had been made more forceful by the success of the company. Sterz was behaving in an imperious manner now, as if Hawkwood had been a fool to walk into such an obvious trap as well as fight a battle that yielded many a cadaver but not a sou in coin, only to receive a jaundiced reply.
‘This was not an occasion for profit, would that it had been. These dead had nothing of value to plunder lest you consider a scythe or two to be treasure. We have never contested with such a pitiable bunch.’
‘Not a knight amongst them?’
‘No.’
‘Then who are they?’ Sterz growled.
‘I suspect local peasants who heard of our coming and were determined to stop us burning their crops. If they were aware of our presence they clearly know nothing of our numbers, assuming my brigade to be the main host.’
The German pinched his much-broken nose as he stood over the pile. ‘You should have been able to smell them if you could not see them, for I can scarce stand the stench in which they lived their miserable lives.’
‘Then I suggest you clamber back into the saddle. There you will see that the sweat of your mount means you can’t even smell your own farts.’
The green eyes flashed; Sterz did not relish being talked to in that way and he stretched his body as if to imply that height alone entitled him to respect, his jaw standing as testimony to his natural obstinacy. The man addressed had no intention of allowing this and had shown already he never would.
‘We could neither smell them nor see our assailants,’ Hawkwood added, explaining the camouflage, ‘but we did fight and overcome them, which is what counts in the end.’
‘A great victory, Sir Hawkwood,’ was the ironic response, the title just short of an insult. ‘Shall we give it a name so those who come after us will know where it occurred? Perhaps call it after the nearest village, if we can find one?’
Such a skirmish did not even warrant a memory. To garnish it with a title would be an insult to the recollection of proper battles in which Hawkwood and his men had fought. The attitude had more to do with the way his inferior talked to him than what had just taken place: while willing to acknowledge the German as a good leader, the Englishman had refused to bow the knee to him. Too many of his fellow captains seemed disposed to do so and that added to the impression Sterz had of his own stature.
‘Find me a village and I will torch it,’ Hawkwood responded, ‘so that the likes of these up ahead know what will be their fate if they seek to halt our progress.’
‘Something we are not making, Hawkwood. Your task on this day was to act the constable and find a suitable camping ground for the company. So you might be better employed seeking to remove the obstacles ahead rather than these you are working on, which others can clear.’
The temptation to dispute that arose only from pique; what the German was saying made sense. Much of the day was gone and the company needed a large open space to pitch its tents and tether its horses. It had to be near a river so the ever-thirsty equines could drink and the fighting men could have water with which to cook and some even to bathe.
Hawkwood nodded and called to his men to gather up their tools and remount, leading them away as soon as that was complete. If they wondered why he detoured into the woods before he got close to the fallen tree trunks none asked; the undergrowth was thick but not dense enough to stop a strong courser from barrelling through, the rest in his wake. The route Hawkwood chose took them round the second set of fallen barriers. Finally Ivor the Axe, just to his rear, enquired what was to be done about them.
‘Let Sterz see to that. It will be an aid in getting some of the fat off the arses of his Germans.’
‘He will get another to do it,’ Ivor said, his accent heavily Welsh. ‘One of his grovellers.’
‘You’re likely right, friend,’ came the gay reply.
The so-called captain general would have seen his ploy and that would irritate him, which was to the good. Better still, he could say nothing to fault the man who had guyed him: finding a proper place to bivouac took precedence over anything else.
CHAPTER THREE
If Sterz had acquired pretensions to self-worth since taking command of the Great Company, everyone knew him to be the son of a charcoal burner. This, being the lowest of low occupations, occasioned many a joke at his expense, though never within the range of his hearing. He had a fierce temper that acted as a red mist and could kill before the realisation dawned on him it was not necessary. If he had risen by soldiering, his background made him touchy regarding his dignity and the way he lived reflected that.
His accommodation was no mere tent, more a spacious pavilion which was always set down with what wind blew and to where in mind, so that the odours of two thousand men, of horses, livestock on the hoof and that which was cooking did not intrude on his luxury. The contents of several carts were always on display at each tented encampment, likewise laid out when the company assaulted and took a monastery or citadel and rested under a proper roof.
His other habit, playing the great magnate, was to invite his captains to dine with him and his German secretary, the Benedictine friar Cunradus. This would be served at a great board, minions toiling hard to ensure it groaned under the weight of the food he provided. The serving dishes and goblets were of either silver or gold, the decorated knives made from the finest steel Milan could produce. Few alluded to the fact that it was paid for by all; it was shared property, not personal plunder from their joint exploits.
The profits of the host were pooled and distributed according to rank and ability, with Sterz holding such valuables as a common coffer in case times became hard. Hawkwood’s English longbowmen and experienced spearmen were highly regarded and thus well rewarded in comparison to others he now commanded. Foot soldiers tended to be no more than armed peasants and so were the lowest paid, just ahead of the untrained youths who had joined their travelling band to escape rural tedium.
There were, of necessity, those who ranked above them all, such as the mailed and armoured knights. Also paid and fed were the scribes, usually but not exclusively monks, others of that ilk acting as mendicants. There were smiths, farriers, sutlers and armourers as well as camp wives and their urchins. All lived off what the company could garner in booty and provisions from those who lay in their predatory path. If they did not plunder they did not eat and the direction in which they went next was of paramount importance; where could they sack, burn or extort to the greatest level of profit?
If the German used his dinners to play the great man, they were also used to lay out plans for future operations and in this he required to know what forces might be ranged against them. Powerful local magnates or large towns who might raise a substantial body of men were left untroubled, the blows falling on those less able to defend themselves: minor nobility, rich urban-based traders as long as their domicile lacked stout walls, farmers of broad hectares and deep coffers, though the poor were not left untouched either.
Wherever a freebooting company went they left behind them a trail of destruction: ruined buildings, scorched fields, cut-down vines, dead men or those maimed by torture into revealing hidden wealth. Women suffered for their gender and the lust of men who were not inclined to bypass vats of wine or the pleasures of free flesh.
The French crown had tried many times to interdict the Great Company, known to be the largest, in the year since Brétigny but the Paris-based princes had never fielded enough men to put a stop to Sterz leading his host to wherever he sought to go. That accepted, contact was avoided: it was no part of their task to engage in fixed battle with a proper army, in which men might expire or pick up a wound without return, so any hint of a substantial opponent cl
ose by had an effect.
Flush from ravishing the Beauce, the general intention was to continue south into country that had never seen or been troubled by any of the free companies. Rich pickings were to be expected in places that were blessed by the sun and had seen no turmoil in decades.
Throughout the eating and boasting Hawkwood ate well but drank sparingly, leaving the pavilion early to do the rounds of his own area and ensure his men were content; such diligence was much appreciated for it was not common amongst captains. This occasioned several stops at campfires to exchange words, jests and memories with people he had fought alongside, Hawkwood never having lost sight of the fact that he had once been an ordinary archer.
He was about to get into his sleeping cot – he kept a fairly humble tent on the grounds that display caused unnecessary envy – when the summons came to return immediately to the pavilion. A call of that kind might presage danger and he thought to order a stand-to, with mounts saddled, only to put it aside; Sterz would have called for that already if danger threatened. Yet he did take his own sword and the boy page Christopher, whom he could send back to undertake that task if there was any danger.
Hawkwood was not the last to enter the pavilion and those who did follow him showed evidence of having overindulged in their leader’s hospitality, having probably stayed behind when the less gluttonous had departed. Sterz himself, clad in a fine silk gown that had once graced a senior French bishop and shimmered in the mass of candlelight, said nothing. But seeing in Hawkwood’s eye the obvious question, as well as his weapon to hand, he responded with an imperceptible shake of the head. There was a stranger present, a fellow whose clothing was covered in the dust of travel which implied he had ridden to this place and was newly arrived, which in turn suggested he had brought intelligence, something the company paid well to receive as a guarantor of both security and opportunity. Was it a chance for booty or news of a hostile force close by? The next act engendered even deeper curiosity and hinted at something very unusual. Sterz ordered his servants, quick to fill and serve goblets of wine, to their beds – all except the monk, Cunradus.
Sure they were gone, he spoke, and for once it was with deliberate softness, half-turning to introduce the stranger. ‘This is Antonio di Valona.’
‘What does an Italian want here?’ called one of the assembly, with a distinct slur.
Sterz favoured the speaker with a withering look. ‘He comes to us with information of the greatest import. He will speak, we will listen.’
A gesture brought di Valona forward. In the increased candlelight Hawkwood noted he had lank and shiny black hair as well as smooth olive skin that had a softness to it. His eyes were dark brown, while the features gave him few years and a comely, near-feminine countenance.
‘My Lords—’
‘Not many of that rank here, fellow.’
The interruption brought forth guffaws and really annoyed Sterz, obvious by the glare and the hand chop demanding silence. A mumbled apology followed from the transgressors.
‘I have come from Avignon.’
‘The whore of France!’
‘Be silent all of you. Let the man speak.’
‘You will know that the Pope has been active in raising the gold to ransom the King of France. Three million livres.’
That got a general murmur as minds settled on the sum. If Hawkwood had been thrown the first time he had heard of a million, he was not in ignorance now; it was a fortune in specie the like of which no man from king to commoner had ever seen, a sum so vast it went beyond imagination.
‘Innocent sent cardinals to the Florentine and Milanese bankers with requests for loans on behalf of Paris, pledges provided.’
‘Even pledging the whole city and the River Seine with it would not cover such a sum.’
‘The task was to raise one-third of the monies and in that they have been successful. The charge now is to get it to where it will, once added to that raised by the French crown, achieve its purpose.’
‘They should leave the coward where he is,’ called John Thornbury. ‘France deserves a better king than Jean le so-called Bon.’
‘The route,’ Sterz added, in an impatient whisper, ‘is one on which we can meet them and relieve them of what they carry.’
The muttering that set up – every one of the dozen men present arrived at a simultaneous conclusion – precluded any further discussion. Sterz waited until it subsided before signalling that di Valona should continue.
‘The cardinals and their escorts are making for Pont-Saint-Esprit in the Comtat Venaissin, their intention to cross the Rhone by the Roman Bridge.’
‘There are,’ Sterz injected, ‘few places to cross the river north of Avignon.’
‘When?’ asked Hawkwood, which had the virtue of being an important question.
The face spun to respond, the candles showing his eyes had within them the light of intelligence. ‘Seven days from now.’
‘And before that?’
‘Each stop has been pre-planned. They intend to stay one night in Pont-Saint-Esprit before proceeding on, the object being to meet with the princes and the remainder of the ransom money in Orleans.’
‘Then should we not get there and bag the lot?’ suggested a captain called Francis the Belge, who led a body of Hainault spearmen.
‘It’s too far off, and besides, we would face an army. From my maps I see us as being three days’ forced march from the Rhone.’
Several seconds of silence followed those words from the German, no doubt with many present seeking to divide a million into what would be their own share and having trouble with the calculation. There were men in this pavilion, good fighters but finger counters, who struggled to get beyond the number ten without a monk to aid them.
‘Why come to us, fellow? Why not recruit a band to steal it yourself?’
The questioning voice had the languid tones of Aquitaine, so Hawkwood knew without looking it was Roland de Jonzac speaking. A doughty, fully mailed knight, he had fought alongside Hawkwood at Poitiers under Edward of Woodstock.
‘The escort numbers two hundred men, papal-funded levies from the Swiss Confederation, and they are sturdy fighters. It will take a strong body of men to subdue them, a force I cannot muster. I lack the means to pay and even if I had the money, would I not risk getting my throat cut once I set out the purpose?’
‘You do not fear that to happen here?’ asked Thornbury.
‘He has my bounden word it will not,’ Sterz insisted.
‘Better,’ Valona added, with the first hint of a kind of suppressed passion, ‘to have part of a loaf as against not even a crumb.’
A mass of detail followed; it seemed this young man had left no stone unturned in his calculations. He pushed for the cardinals to be interdicted at Pont-Saint-Esprit for the very good reason that if they were required to get to where they needed to be, a point to the north where they would be met by a very strong force of French chivalry, the crossing of the Rhone was the one part of their journey they could not alter. Also he was unsure of their route once the river had been crossed and thought it unwise to go beyond the crossing into the heavily populated and fertile papal possessions of the Comtat Venaissin, where news of their presence, of a routier band, would quickly spread.
It was telling that the initial scepticism had subsided, yet Hawkwood wondered at Sterz. He too must have been disbelieving of such a tale at first. What had this young man said to so convince him that he now had utter faith in di Valona’s explanation? Did he have other sources of information? If he had, he was not saying and nor would he if asked.
There was not a single captain who exited the pavilion, well after the hourglass had taken them past the midnight hour, without thirsting to go after this fabulous prize and who was sure it was close to being in their grasp. To relieve the cardinals of their coffers would far outstrip anything the company had been able to gain hitherto by a huge margin. Even for a common soldier or archer the monies appropriated would
be substantial, perhaps enough to put aside a life of constant movement and fighting along with the risk of dying in some foreign field.
Not immune to such imaginings himself and finding sleep impossible, Hawkwood shunned his cot to pace back and forth outside his tent, sending young Gold back to his slumbers. He had spent hours waiting outside the pavilion already and the lad’s duties did not extend to watching his master think. To ensure he got peace Hawkwood set off to stroll through the camp.
It was silent now, the only fires still fully lit those of the sentinels on the periphery. The rest were mere embers kept going with the addition of the odd log so they would be quick to revive in the morning. A piquet was necessary but not to protect against a sudden assault, which was unlikely given they generally knew if there was an enemy in the offing.
Besides, night attacks were notoriously difficult to mount without the noise of a large body of moving men alerting the quarry, especially with a sliver of moon and strong starlight. On an open, sloping field there was little chance of an unseen approach: these men were set to ensure that no locals came crawling in to pilfer from the sleepers, a constant concern.
His walk took him through the endless horse lines, the equines either munching at hay or sleeping, heads dropped but upright. He found and murmured words to his own courser, the favoured horse for fast riding which could still be relied upon in battle. The herd included rouncies to act as packhorses as well as the odd knightly destriers, heavy tilting mounts descended from the stallions of Byzantium able to carry a man in full armour.
If it was a task to feed and care for the needs of over two thousand men and the detritus that followed them then that of these animals was just as important, which meant good pasture, hay and a supply of oats. Without fit horses the company would be unable to operate and if there was the odd callous fellow who treated his mount badly, there were many more who held them in higher regard than their human companions.
