The Centurion's Empire

by Sean McMullen

  "Dusk or soon after," replied Lady Anne after thinking for a moment.

  "Then we must do that. If the Jacques are converging there, we have to reach the Market of Meaux before it comes under siege."

  As Vitellan had hoped, the party was taken for a band of English men-at-arms and their French servants. As he had feared, they encountered larger and larger groups of villeins going in their direction. Nearly all were male, and carried improvised or looted weapons. Lady Anne chatted constantly with Guy and Vitellan, trying to bring their colloquial French to a usable level for the hours ahead.

  They managed to get within sight of Meaux by the evening. The fields surrounding the town were covered with Jacques sitting around bonfires, and Will put their number between five and ten thousand. There appeared to be no organization, other than a general focus on Meaux. "Tomorrow the King Bonhomme arrives" was the cry as they passed the carousing groups.

  "In a way this is a good sign," observed Vitellan as they walked along the road, waving and returning cheers. "A rabble like this cannot live off the land for long, and there are virtually no armor and supply waggons."

  "A short siege after all, Master?" said Guy.

  "No more than weeks. As long as they can be kept out of the town and away from its stores they will soon be in search of an easier target. Our problem will be getting through the gates, but I have a few ideas ... that's odd." He peered ahead to a line of bonfires. 'There's quite a group near the gates, and the gates are open." As they got closer Guy mounted the lead packhorse and gathered the reins of the other three in so that they made a heavy wedge to push through the crowd. "Make way for King Bonhomme's captains, make way for King Bon-homme's captains," he called firmly and ignored questions thrown back to him. They broke through to a clear space between the gates of the town and the crowd of about a thousand Jacques. Four bonfires burned on either side of the road, but it was not clear who had set them. A dozen frightened pikemen of the town militia were standing on the road, barring the way.

  "That's bad," Vitellan said as he surveyed the mob.

  "They bar the way to the Jacques," said Guy, leaning down from the horse. Vitellan pointed to one side, where a town magistrate was speaking with two Jacque captains. All were smiling and nodding as they conversed.

  "They should not even be talking with them. I've faced mobs, you have to be firm. They should close the gates and station archers on the walls."

  Having only one man able to speak fluent French was a serious handicap. Vitellan briefed Will on what to say, then they moved forward to near where the Jacque captains were talking to the magistrates. Will strode over and began announcing a message from King Jacque Bonhomme for the

  mayor of Meaux. This caught them all by surprise, and they turned to listen. The Jacque leaders scratched their heads and frowned, and the magistrate nodded and smiled uncertainly. Then, at a word from the magistrate, the pikemen stood aside to let Vitellan's group enter.

  Suddenly a lone Jacque broke free of the crowd and ran for the gates. Immediately the militiamen lowered their pikes and blocked the way.

  "Please, please, I am the Countess de Hussontal," she cried, tearing off her cap. Now a dozen Jacques ran forward and seized her while the militia kept their pikes leveled and the magistrate watched in silence with his arms folded.

  "Ho! Strip her where can all see!" shouted Vitellan in broken French. Lady Anne gasped in horror as the Jacques roared their approval and the countess was thrown down by her captors. She writhed and screamed as they tore off her clothes with the skill of practice.

  "Gather your men, string your bows," Vitellan said to Giles, then he turned to Guy while rummaging in a sad-dlepack.

  "Keep the horses together, ride for the gates at my signal."

  "But the pikemen—"

  "Trust me, they'll break ranks and run," said Vitellan as he hefted an odd black jar about the size of a child's head.

  "Giles, take the gates with your men, Lady Anne, follow with your children. Hold the gates open. Shoot into the Jacque crowd and shoot anyone in the town who tries to close the gates. The rest of you, run for the countess when I do." Vitellan strolled across to one of the bonfires, uncoiling a length of string from the jar. The string began to sputter as he dipped it into the flames, then he calmly walked back toward them. He stopped, examining the progress of the fuse as if it were an interesting book, then he hurled the jar just behind the foremost Jacques in the crowd. The explosion was shocking and shattering, it was the first gunpowder blast that most of them had ever heard. Fragments of iron tore through flesh like jagged arrowheads and pandemonium was instant and complete. Will backhanded his sword into a Jacque captain's face as

  Vitellan and the others ran forward and began to cut down the dumbfounded Jacques surrounding the countess. The horses reared in fright and bolted, but Guy turned them for the gates. The combination of the explosion and charging horses was too much for the militiamen, who threw down their pikes and ran. Guy was first through the gates, struggling to control the horses. Lady Anne followed with her children, followed in turn by the bowmen who backed to the gate, firing at the writhing mass of Jacques as they went. Gilbert reached the gates to find Lady Anne standing over a body and brandishing a bloody pike at a half-circle of frightened townsmen holding a huge wooden crossbar. The countess was bruised and bleeding as Will dragged her to her feet by one arm and pushed her at the gate. "Go! Run for the gate!" he shouted in French.

  At that moment the archers fired the last of their arrows. Vitellan shouted to fall back, but by now the Jacques were beginning to rally behind their surviving captain. Pole weapons against swords is a one-sided fight, and Vitellan saw Will fall before him with a pike through one eye. Blades and points began to thud and scrape across the Roman's armor. Two of the bowmen ran forward with the militiamen's fallen pikes, and the Jacques fell back for a moment before the longer weapons. That was all the time they needed to turn and run for the gates. Behind the gates Lady Anne and the other bowmen were holding back the militia and townsmen while the countess and children huddled together.

  "Close them, quickly!" shouted Vitellan, and now the militia, townsmen, and travelers worked together to push the gates shut against the Jacques and drop the heavy wooden bar into place. Vitellan collapsed before he could take another step, completely spent. Behind the gate they could hear the mob banging on the heavy wood.

  "Fool! Fool!" ranted the magistrate. "We had them listening to us, we might have made a truce. You are all to be arrested."

  "What is he saying?" gasped Vitellan to Anne, unable to understand rapidly spoken French. The magistrate continued to shout.

  "We are under detention."

  At that moment the countess, still naked, stormed forward. Her eyes were blazing with rage and she was shrieking at the top of her voice. Vitellan managed to make out something about pigs, duhg, and being flayed alive. The magistrate shrank back, then fumbled with the pin of his cloak—which the countess had apparently demanded. Giles draped Vitellan's arm around his neck and hoisted him up, then they started down the road. The streets were full of people setting up tables in the streets and carrying baskets of bread and meat. The magistrate followed some distance behind them, shouting increasingly loud abuse as he regained his courage. The pikemen of the militia were behind him, walking in no order, unwilling to obey the magistrate and arrest the intruders.

  "Strange, they're preparing for a fair," said Walt.

  "The Jacques are to be let in to drink, feast, and do as they will, it's happened in many other towns," said Anne.

  "We must get into the Market right away," panted Vitellan urgently. "The Jacques will have all the food and shelter they need for a long siege."

  Several streets along they met with Guy, who had managed to stop the horses after smashing into several of the heavily laden tables. Angry townsfolk were gathered around him, but they dispersed as the others arrived. The Market of Meaux was connected to the town by a bridge, being built on land b
etween the river and a canal. The walls were high enough to keep out a mob, even an army, if properly defended. They crossed the bridge to the Market, and the guards beneath the portcullis let them pass as soon as they realized who the women were.

  Vitellan passed out, and only woke when the sky was brightening with the dawn of the next day. He was lying on a pallet, covered by a blanket. The Countess of Hussontal was sitting with him, still wearing the magistrate's black cloak.

  "I am told that you speak Latin," she said as she gently raised his head and offered him a drink from a battered tin bowl.

  "You ... the woman at the gates," he said, confused, his eyes unfocused.

  "Myself. I owe you my life, you charged the Jacques to rescue me."

  Her lips began to tremble, but she neither wept nor flung herself upon her rescuer. Vitellan glanced about, and noted that he was lying under the awning of what had probably been a vegetable stall. Lady Anne's daughters Louise and Marie were keeping a crowd of onlookers from pressing too close, yet there was no unseemly pushing and gawking. They were all nobles, and were well mannered—in a way their manners were all that they had left to cling to. Some of them were in disguise, others had fled in whatever finery they had been wearing when the Jacques had advanced.

  "I must apologize for calling for you to be stripped, my lady," said Vitellan diplomatically, although he was not in the mood for genteel banter.

  "Oh, Sir Vitellan, you may do that whenever you would," she whispered in reply, now beginning to drip tears on his blanket. "I thought my next meeting would be with God, but it was with you instead." She was a tangle of gratitude, restraint, emotion, and manners, all underlaid by her rank among the French nobility. A code of seemly behavior to observe, Vitellan reminded himself. In the distance, beyond the walls of Meaux, he could hear the shouting of the Jacques.

  "I must get up, see to the defenses," he began, wearily pushing the blanket back. The countess took the blanket from his fingers and covered him again, gazing adoringly down at his face.

  "Last night, when I was flung down naked in the dust before the eyes of those vile swine ... I went a little mad, I think. Me, a countess, at the mercy of such men, yet God in His mercy sent you to protect me." Her face was pale and scratched, yet was exquisitely fine-boned and framed by twin cascades of black hair that hung down to brush his hands.

  "There is fatigue in your eyes, my lady, you should rest."

  "And in your eyes there is strangeness beyond words. Your manners, your walk, your very speech, all are stranger than those of the most exotic Moor." She lowered her face close to his. "Lady Anne says that you are older than the Royal House of France, that you met with Christ Himself."

  Vitellan shook his head slowly on the cushion and said "No."

  This seemed to disappoint her a trifle. She sat up straight, assuming her public posture again. The hour of glorious dreams was past, he was just a brave but mortal man again. Soon they would die, and it would be hideous, obscene—

  "It was my father who met Him. Christ died twenty years before I was born."

  The countess's composure shattered. She swayed as if about to fall from the pallet, with her mouth hanging open and her eyes protruding like a scribe's caricature of a jongleur. Vitellan took her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  "Do not be in fear of the Jacques, good lady. I shall defend you with my life, and I have lived a very long time. Now, if you wish to please me you must try to rest." He called to one of Lady Anne's daughters. "Marie, take the countess to some place where she may rest quietly, if you please."

  With the countess gone Vitellan sat up and began to buckle on his light armor. Louise brought him a bowl of stew, and as usual he scooped out the solid pieces before drinking any. The longing for solid food tormented him, but his stomach continued to twinge its warnings to be careful. The Duchess of Normandy and the Duchess of Orleans called by to ask after his health, to be followed by a score more noblewomen and their families. It was as if he were a foreign king visiting the French royal court. Many girls, and several of their mothers, left their favors with him, scraps of ribbon and lace to wear into battle.

  Guy arrived with the three surviving archers, and they reported on their hasty survey of the Market. There were very few commoners in the Market, only the three hundred noblewomen and their children defended by a handful of knights and trusted men-at-arms. Everyone in the Market was desperate with fear. They knew that the Meaux mayor and magistrates were preparing to open the town gates to the Jacques.

  "Had I known how few fighting men were in the Market I would never have led us here," Vitellan said wearily. "Three archers, you, me, Walt, and a few knights and squires ... but perhaps I would have anyway. Why cling to life for centuries if only to live without honor?"

  Later that morning the town's gates were opened and the Jacques poured into Meaux. The sounds of rowdy feasting soon echoed over the walls of the Market, filling those inside with dread. Vitellan was introduced to the Duke of Orleans, who welcomed him and gave him a tour of the defenses. The duke thought that there might be many loyal men-at-arms out in the town, but unless they could be rallied they would be of no help. There was a good supply of arrows for Vitellan's archers, and although they were shorter than the English type and balanced differently, they were quite adequate at close quarters. Guy set about training some of the women to push siege ladders away from the walls with poles. The sun had been up for about three hours when there was a rumble of hoofs on the bridge and the rattle of chains raising the portcullis. Vitellan joined the duke in time to greet the Captal de Buch and the Count de Foix as they entered with twelve dozen men. The Jacques had apparently been too intent on their feast to try to stop them entering the town.

  The story of Vitellan's three battles with the Jacques were of great interest to the Count de Foix and his cousin. They had been returning from Prussia when they heard of the danger at Meaux, but they had not yet fought against Jacques.

  "So you razed a hamlet of a hundred souls with only nine men?" asked the count in Latin as they hastily conferred.

  'That was because of complete surprise, and good planning," Vitellan explained. "The village where we rescued Anne de Boucien was harder, but we distracted them by setting the houses afire firsf. The Jacques are not well led, they break and run when attacked convincingly. The danger comes from such a situation as we had at the gates of Meaux last night, when the press of numbers from behind forces those in front upon you. I lost one man that way, and I was nearly brought down myself."

  "My men estimate nine or ten thousand Jacques in the town," said the count.

  "Cowardly rabble," muttered the Captal de Buch.

  "Yes, a rabble," agreed Vitellan. "And a rabble is not an effective fighting force."

  "That means we can withstand a siege," declared the

  Duke of Orleans, slapping his knee and smiling for the first time since Vitellan had met him.

  "Not a siege, attack!" said Vitellan with infectious urgency. The duke's smile vanished.

  "But Sir, Vitellan de, ah—"

  "Durvas."

  "Vitellan de Durvas, forgive me, good sir, but ten thousand is a very big rabble. Each of us would have to kill a hundred to clear them away."

  "If each of us kills even ten the rest would flee," snorted the Captal de Buch. "Do you have any more of those black powder jars, Sir Vitellan?"

  Vitellan blinked in surprise at his new title, but his expression did not change. "I had only the one I used last night, but consider this," he replied, gesturing to the bridge beyond the portcullis where the Jacques were already gathering. "The bridge is narrow and those Jacques out there now are the leaders. Look at them, calling for more to come forward. They want a fight. We now have twenty-five fully equipped knights on horseback and more than a hundred men-at-arms to follow on. The push of Jacques from behind will not allow their leaders to escape if we charge out across the bridge."

  "In the first charge we shall cut off the he
ad of the Jacquerie's body!" exclaimed the Count de Foix, and the others cheered with approval.

  They began to prepare their horses and armor at once, and soon the Count de Foix and the Captal de Buch sat preening themselves before the desperate yet admiring gaze of the three hundred besieged noblewomen and their children.

  "Look at them, the flower of chivalry preparing to defend their ladies' lives and honor," Vitellan said to Guy. "Immortal legends will probably grow out of this day."

  "Not as immortal as yourself, Master."

  "Shining armor, banners, stern faces, and not one of them is wearing the favors of less than a dozen ladies. It's all I can do not to laugh, but that would spoil the effect."

  "You wear at least as many," replied Guy earnestly, not really appreciating the joke. Vitellan gazed at the onlookers, noticing that many of them

  looked shabby and bedraggled. They were used to being looked after by servants, and in most cases they would have been fending for themselves for the first time in their lives. So many imploring, adoring faces, he thought, so much trust in so few men. If they should fail, then what? Anne de Boucien already had a dozen girls and women standing with her holding pikes, and Guy would remain behind with the archers and a few other men. Perhaps they could hold out until... a miracle. He picked out the Countess de Hussontal, who was now wearing the magistrate's cloak over borrowed clothes. She was looking directly at him, and did not look at all frightened. He bowed a fraction, and several other women and girls waved back. Just then Louise dashed out among the horses and made straight for them. She stopped before Guy.

  "Will you wear these?" the girl asked shyly, holding out three ribbons. Guy hesitated.

  "Wear them, Guy, or find another master," said Vitellan sternly. He stood watching with his arms folded until the favors of Anne de Boucien and her daughters were tied to Guy's belt.