Berenger waited until the men on the cart nodded to him, before smacking the rump of the pony. The beast moved, startled, and the cart was pulled away. Bernard fell from the back, his hands going to his throat as the desperate fight for life began, his heels jerking spasmodically while his eyes bulged. His mouth opened to release a guttural, bestial sound, but nothing else came. Gradually, over some minutes, the movements eased and grew more gentle, as if he was only going to sleep, and instead of the creaking and crackling of the rope, all Berenger could hear was the soft sobbing of Arnaud.
Saturday 17 September
‘What’re we doing here, that’s what I want to know!’ Clip whined.
They were sitting about the fire in the middle of the packed earth of the floor. Cheery sparks and spitting flames lit their faces and made their cooking biscuit glow orange. The day before all had been working on the defences in the anticipation of the appearance of the French army, but there had been no sign of them. Instead the men had resorted to throwing insults at each other. Last night they had fallen into their beds moaning about their aches and pains after so much heavy digging and working with barricades, fences and trenches.
This morning all had risen quickly with the dawn. All the men were more or less comfortable, although it was not obvious, Berenger thought, to listen to them.
‘You have food, drink and a dry bed. What more do you need to know?’ Robin asked.
‘We ought to be going out about the place, seeing what’s happening,’ Clip said.
‘Oh, you mean robbing any poor travellers you find on the road?’
‘Well, if there’s someone about the place, we should question them.’
‘And if you happen to find a farm, it would be a crying shame not to see if there were any chickens or pigs that needed to be looked after,’ Fulk said. ‘You are nothing better than a felon, Clip.’
‘Aye, but at least I know who I am,’ Clip said.
‘What does that mean?’ Fulk demanded.
‘Ach, I’ve been fighting all my life, and always in the pay of the King. But you, you are a farmer really. You don’t know what you’re doing here.’
‘You think me a farmer?’
Robin was chuckling to himself. ‘He thinks anyone who was not born in a city must be a farmer, Fulk.’
‘But I am a farmer. Where I live, the farmers are not like you. We are free, since we the slaughtered the French at Morgarten more than forty years ago. All men are equal in my country. We have no Lords, no Barons, no Counts and no King. So I am free to come here and fight.’
Clip was staring at him open-mouthed. ‘You’re free, and you come to fight for our Prince? You must be mad! You could be sitting on a stool in a tavern with a wriggly wench on your lap, and you chose to come here to fight and die?’
‘Ah, but I will not die.’
‘Ye’ll die. We’ll all die. This French army they’re sending after us, it’ll stop us.’
‘We are stopped,’ Berenger said mildly.
‘Ah, because we’re held here in a trap, Frip, don’t you see? We have no escape,’ Clip said with grim cheerfulness. ‘We’ll all die here.’
‘Not you, I’ve no doubt,’ Berenger said. He was serious.
‘Why are we all here, Frip?’ Baz asked.
‘The Prince is searching to find where the French army has gone, and this is a moderately good defensive position. I think he wants to learn whether or not the French truly desire a fight.’
‘Why would they have sent their men after us if they didn’t want to fight?’ Dogbreath said. He was pushing at his oatcake, trying to make it turn on its hot stone without burning his fingers.
‘They could want to hold us to one point and try to besiege us. That would be my fear,’ Saul said.
‘They could, but don’t forget that the Duke of Lancaster and his men are supposed to be joining us,’ Robin said.
Imbert grunted. ‘You think those pricks will show up in time for a battle? They’ll discover every bridge broken against them, just as we did near Tours.’
‘The French will likely leave one or two standing,’ Berenger said mildly.
‘Only if they have great cities and defensive positions to keep us from them,’ Imbert sneered.
‘Perhaps so. If you are correct, then it may explain why the Duke is delayed,’ Berenger said. ‘But if that is so, it is still a good reason for us to wait here.’
Clip took his oatcake from the hot stones and stood tossing it up and down to cool while he blew on it. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. Ye’ll all be killed here.’
‘Still forecasting death and destruction, eh, Clip?’ Grandarse boomed from the doorway.
‘Aye. I’m a realist. It’s just that none of you realise,’ Clip said, undaunted.
‘Fripper, to me!’ Grandarse said, ignoring his comment.
‘What is it?’ Berenger asked as he joined his centener at the doorway.
‘Change of plans, man. You and your vintaine are to come with me. I’m taking you and all my other vintaines to the roads south to see whether we can find the French. The King needs eyes and ears searching for them.’
‘Which road do we take?’
‘The whole army’s following us. We cross by the bridge here, then down to the Clain. We have to find a ford or some other crossing point. Then we head to the south. If we’re lucky, we may catch the French partway over the river, half this side, half the other. If we do, we can slaughter them with ease. If not, well, we’ll have to figure out a different route to victory.’
As they rode across the bridge over the Vienne, Berenger could not help but throw a look over his shoulder at the rest of the army. There was something about leaving the army behind that made him feel horribly lonely, even with the rest of Grandarse’s men all about him.
‘Eh, keep with me and we’ll be all right,’ Grandarse called to him.
Berenger grinned to himself. He drank deeply from his water bottle and then, as he looked down at the river, he thought he should refill it, but with all the men moving, it would be difficult to stop now. Better to wait until later, and refill it then, he thought. There was bound to be time when they took a break to rest the horses.
‘Come on, you daft beggar!’ Grandarse called.
It was good to have a leader like Grandarse. He always seemed to understand what was going on in his men’s minds. Not one to consort much with the men who worked under him, he kept their respect. In almost every way he was as unlike Will as he could be.
Seeing a waving hat, Berenger peered, and was almost sure that it was Archibald and Béatrice standing on their wagon to give him their farewell. He waved back, hoping it was them, but then steeled himself for battle. He settled himself in the saddle once more.
They had not a long ride, but an important one. Now, at the western bank of the Vienne, they must ride south with haste. They would soon meet with the River Clain, Berenger had been told, which was considerably smaller and, with luck, easy enough to ford. After that, they would make their way south in the hope of catching the French on the march. If they did, they may be able to maul them so viciously that the French would be routed. That, at least, was the hope.
‘If we find ’em today, that could be the end of this chevauchée,’ Grandarse said ruminatively.
‘What then?’ Berenger asked.
Grandarse looked across at him. ‘For me? Hah! You know, I always thought I’d settle down with a filthy-minded little strumpet. I’d go to the Bishop of Winchester’s stews south of the Thames and pick a wench who was looking a little old and tired, and rescue her from her life of harsh, unremitting toil, so long as she knew how to cook and sew and keep my bed warm at night. It’s not a bad little dream, eh?’
‘No.’
‘Ah, I forgot, man. You had that dream once. And you caught the opportunity when it floated past you, too. I admire you for that, Frip. You showed good sense. You ought to again.’
Berenger gave a laugh that was little more than a sigh. �
��You think I could settle down? I tried that, Grandarse. It’s not for us, old friend.’
‘It could be, Frip. You have to carry hope here,’ Grandarse said, clenching his fist and striking his breast. ‘Without that, man, what is there left?’
‘I think I had my opportunity for happiness at Calais.’
‘Your woman died. It’s sad, but it happened to many others, Frip. Don’t hold one death against God. He might yet surprise you and make you happy again.’
‘I doubt it.’
Grandarse pulled a face and glared at the road ahead as though it was arguing with him. ‘You have the means to be happy, Frip. You shouldn’t throw it away.’
‘I’ve thought,’ Berenger began, ‘that I might join a monastery.’
‘You? Oh, eh, man, you said that before, but now I know you’re just making fun of a daft old git because you can! Ballocks to that! You? A monk?’
And he rode on, guffawing loudly, while Berenger jogged along behind.
Berenger reckoned they had been riding for almost five leagues through a forest when there was a hissed cry from in front.
His head snapped up immediately. He had been riding in a half-doze for the last few miles, but at that sound he was fully alert again. The column of scouts waited hesitantly, and Berenger had a feeling of nervous excitement thrill through his body as a pair of riders appeared. They were from Hawkwood’s vintaine, he saw. Hawkwood had ridden on with his fellows to act as vanguard some time ago. These two must have been sent back to warn Grandarse of a danger ahead. Berenger urged his mount forward a little so he could hear the conversation.
‘We’ve missed them, yes. They passed by on the road. We’re coming to it shortly. It’s a good mile or two ahead. But we’ve definitely missed them.’
‘You’re sure it’s the whole army?’ Grandarse asked.
‘The trail is broken for three wagons’ width. If it’s not an army with heavy supplies, I don’t know what it is,’ the scout returned.
‘Very good. Ride back and warn the Prince. We’ll ride on and wait for his orders.’
Grandarse gave the signal and his column moved on again, but this time with a renewed vigour. All the men were aware that the French were very close now, and they rode with the keen attention of men who knew that battle could strike at any moment.
At the head of his vintaine, Berenger paid close attention to the darkness of the trees. With luck, there would be no assault here. If the scouts were right, the army had passed across their line of march and continued on.
It was only a mile and a half to the road, and here the men paused. Berenger had the feeling that crossing that road would be inviting disaster. He could imagine a charge of knights hurtling along the road to slam into the flank of the English army. It was not a welcome thought.
‘Grandarse, let me dismount a strong force of archers and take them to the roadway. If there are any French dawdling behind, or if some scouts come along that road, we will need to kill them before they can form a charge.’
‘Aye, good idea, Frip. Take your men, Hawkwood’s and two other vintaines to the west. I’ll have more head to the east. Keep within two bowshots of us here, and if you see anything, send a man back to let us know before you all get cut to pieces, eh?’
Berenger nodded. He called to Hawkwood and two of the other vinteners and explained what they were to do, and then went to his men. ‘Archers, dismount,’ he called, then, ‘String your bows and collect ten arrows each. We’re going to ride west along this road just to make sure we don’t get any nasty surprises. Keep close, keep careful, and for the love of all the saints, keep quiet. We don’t know how far away the French are.’
They remounted and set off. The road here was a rough track, and as they went the dust caused by so much heavy traffic rose thickly. The men coughed and covered their faces as best they could, but Berenger kept his eyes open, blinking wildly.
At each curve in the road, he would slow and peer warily about the trees, trying to discern whether there was any sign of men. This road was over hilly ground, and didn’t follow a stream or river, but instead followed the hillsides. It made for a road with little incline, but it was nerve-wracking to endure the ride expecting at any moment to hear the shouts and grumbles of an army on the march, to see horses and men, to experience that horrible, slow realisation of approaching disaster.
They rode on, the dust clogging the throats of men and beasts alike. Berenger’s nostrils felt as though sand had been poured into them, and his throat was parched. It was hard to imagine that only a few days ago they had all been complaining about the rain and hoping it would stop. Now he would give much to have a little drizzle to keep the dust down. Without thinking, he reached for his leather bottle of water, but when he shook it, it was empty. He had known he should have refilled it at the river. It was a basic rule of soldiering, to take every opportunity to refill water and grab whatever food there was available.
He was still berating himself as he took the next turn in the road. There, he stopped, and stared.
Before him, almost hidden by the thick clouds of choking dust, he could see the slowly rumbling wagons, the horsemen, the marching peasants, of a great army.
‘Frip, I really think we should go back rather than trying to engage that lot,’ Robin said quietly.
The Prince and his commanders were already at the edge of the road when Berenger and his men returned.
‘Sir, the rear of the French army is just up there, about two miles away up beyond a steep bend in the road,’ Berenger said, pointing. ‘They are turning slightly south, from what I could see. They may be preparing to make camp.’
‘How many?’ the Captal de Buch asked.
‘I couldn’t say accurately, sir. The ground could have hidden more, and the line of trees too.’
There were more discussions, but there were several facts clear to all. The French had already passed this way; Grandarse’s men had run into the rear of the main force, and to continue along this road would bring them into contact with the French.
‘We shall follow them, but rather than take the road, we shall travel through the trees,’ the Prince decided after consulting with his commanders.
‘Aye,’ Grandarse said. ‘It’ll keep us hidden from the enemy, right enough, but it’ll be more of a bugger for all us.’
Berenger knew what he meant. The men had already covered over twenty miles that day, and most of that by narrow tracks in the forest. The ruts, the thick undergrowth, the mud and the irregularity of the paths were taking their toll on the men, the beasts and their wagons.
‘To enter another wood and push on through, that will be hard,’ Berenger said reflectively later as Grandarse related the news to his vinteners.
‘No one ever said that war would be easy,’ Grandarse said sternly.
‘Except you.’
Berenger was called to Sir John de Sully as the men were preparing. Grandarse was already there, his face grim.
‘Frip, we have need of a good centaine at the front of the army. I’m putting Grandarse and you out there. I want you to ride on the right flank and a little ahead of the main column. The men here will be Guyennois, and I know the Captal de Buch formed a good opinion of you when you were up near Vierzon. Do you stay there on the flank and ahead and keep your eyes open for any enemy scouts.’
‘Yes, Sir John.’
‘There’s another reason why you’re up there, Frip,’ Grandarse told him as they marched back to their men. ‘He’s put Will and his company on the left flank. He still thinks you have a problem with Will. Is that so?’
Berenger shook his head. ‘That’s forgotten for now. I’ll not endanger the army by picking a fight with him on the eve of a battle.’
They had reached Grandarse’s horse, and now he puffed and blew as he tried to launch himself up onto his mount’s back. Berenger helped him with a shove that almost pushed him headfirst over the other side of the beast. ‘Watch what you’re doing, man!’
; He settled himself, then looked steadily down at Berenger. ‘If you were to be trying for a job with a new abbey, just remember this, Frip. God doesn’t take kindly to the idea that His monks could have violence in their hearts. If you want to settle down like that, man, you’d best think on those words about gentleness and turning the other cheek.’
‘And forego my revenge, you mean? I don’t think so. I think God believes in justice too. He would expect me to destroy Will for what he did.’
Berenger walked back to his men with resentment burning like a torch in his breast.
‘You all right, Frip?’ Robin asked.
Yes.’
He saw to it that his men had their orders. All bows to be strung and ready, each man to have ten arrows on him, to ride quietly and carefully and keep their eyes open in case of ambush.
To Berenger it was irritating that Sir John could have suspected him of risking the army because of his anger at Will: he had taken on a feud with Will because the man had killed his woman, not because he had taken Berenger’s company. But he wasn’t worried about that. He did want to avenge Alazais, as well as the kindly Abbot, the cynical, prickly Infirmarer and all the others from the monastery, but having seen Will over the matter of Bernard, Berenger was coming to the opinion that the man was already living in Hell. And from the look of his men, and the way that they looked sidelong at him, it was likely that the man would not long retain command in any case. If Berenger was any judge of men, the fellows of his company would soon take matters into their own hands. And from Will’s expression when he had gone to arrest Bernard, he knew it.
He could almost feel sorry for Will.
They were moving off through the late afternoon. In among the trees no wind could ruffle the branches, and the men were soon sweating.
Berenger had taken an entry point into the woods some fifty yards away from the main column. As he sat on his mount, waiting, he could see the Captal de Buch and his men-at-arms on their beasts. The Captal was working his reins through his gauntlets, pulling them tight, loosening them, pulling them tight again, while his mount vigorously nodded his head up and down. The tension was getting to all of them, men and beasts. Berenger found himself touching the hilts of his sword, his dagger, the arrows stuffed into his belt, almost as though they each held talismanic qualities. But it was less that, more the fact that he wanted to know they were all there, in place still. He didn’t want to throw himself into a fight and discover that his weapons had disappeared.
Blood of the Innocents Page 40
