Uncle Raymond introduced me to my two file sergeants and their chosen men, one of whom I immediately recognized because he had been with me as a one-stripe archer when we freed the slaves at the tin mine during the great famine. And once again the dear man did it in a very supportive way to give me credibility and instant acceptance.
“This here is Sergeant George. Him and me go back a long ways—we went o’er the wall together when the God-cursed Saracens overran Edmund’s castle long before any of you lot even knew our company existed. I am telling you this because some of you are going to be daft and think you can play tricks on him when you find out he is also a priest because he was learnt in Bishop Thomas’s school to scribe and gobble in church-talk.
“I would leave you to try your tricks so he and I could get a good laugh, but we have no time for that because we need to get an early warning if any enemies come up the London Road to try to take our relics. It could be dangerous because you will be going out beyond our own lands.
“So try to keep this behind your eyes in your empty heads—Sergeant George here has stood firm and fought in more battles than any of you lot, and probably killed more of our enemies than all of you put together. So do what he tells you and you will be alright.”
Then he gave me a big smile, clapped me on the shoulder most manly-like, and walked away. I knuckled my head with a respectful salute as he did. Time to start.
“Alright lads, get ready to show me your weapons and bowstrings.”
******
Before I started the inspection, I told the men how pleased I was to have a chance to serve with them because I knew they were all outriders, the men who went out in pairs to scout in front of our forces and watch our borders, the best of the best. Then I had one of the two lines of men take two paces to the side so I could walk between them and inspect their weapons.
I shook the hand of each man as I came to him and had him tell me his name as he showed me his longbow, quivers and arrows, knife, and bowstrings including the spare we all carried under our knitted cap to keep it dry. I started with a man I recognized.
“Alfred, it is you, by God; and a chosen man with two stripes. It is good to see you, it certainly is. I am pleased we will be together. I remember how you put an arrow damn near all the way through that big slave driver who tried to attack us at the tin mine, I surely do. It was a damn fine shot, it surely was.”
“Hoy, George, and it is good to see you too,” Alfred said with a shy smile as he wiped his hand on his tunic and shook mine. He was more than a little pleased to be recognized in front of his mates.
Acknowledging that they were all outriders, the best of the best, and my recognizing of Alfred seemed to greatly please the men. I could tell as I briefly stopped to talk to each man and check his weapons. I did not quite understand their pleasure, but I had seen it before and felt it myself; elite fighting men like to be recognized and appreciated by their sergeants, and rightly so.
In any event, my inspection went quickly and well. Everyone was ready except for one poor sod who got shouted at and cuffed on his ear by his file sergeant for not having an extra bowstring under his cap. Within minutes we were saddling our horses and getting ready to ride. Mine was a big black ambler with his bollocks chopped off.
I could sense that the men were excited about going off to do something new and unknown that might have a whiff of danger to it; so was I. I really like being a sergeant.
Raymond and a number of the castle’s women came out to see us off and were standing in the outer bailey as we rode out of the castle. They raised their hands in friendly salutes as we clattered out over the outer drawbridge with our longbows in one hand and our reins in the other. I lifted my bow in acknowledgement and so did some of the men.
If no one tried to stop us, and we rode steadily down the old Roman road towards London, we should be able to get a good two days walk from Okehampton by sundown even if we do not push our horses, which we would not do in order to keep them fresh in case we come across some trouble. We would continue riding on towards London the next morning until we went another distance of what it would take a man two days to walk, and could find a safe place to camp. It looked like it was going to rain again.
******
We began meeting roadside pedlars and a constant stream of travellers going in both directions as soon as we reached the end of the cart path running up to the castle and moved on to the old Roman road that runs between London and Exeter. The only traveller who raised any questions in my mind was a fast-moving galloper we met after we had been on the road for a while. He ignored my friendly hail and rode past us without even slowing down or saying a word.
The people we met were travelling normally, though some got a bit fearful when they saw our large group of armed men riding together. The same with the roadside pedlars; sometimes they gathered up their apples and turnips and such and hurried away as we approached.
A couple of hours after we reached the London road, a group of pilgrims, probably walking to a shrine somewhere, panicked at seeing a large group of armed men coming towards them and ran off the road to escape from us.
Enough. We were scaring people and calling too much attention to ourselves. From that point on I began spacing my men out along the road and rode ahead and alone so I could talk to the people I met or overtook. I would have cut across the fields to save time, but the road was so straight that I thought there was nothing to be gained by leaving it. Staying on the road turned out to be a huge mistake, and so was spreading my men out and riding out front all alone. It happened late the next morning after we had crossed into Somerset.
******
The previous night my men and I moved a ways off the road and camped near a little stream as the sun began to go down. We did not bother to set up our two tents because the rain did not last long and it did not look like more was in the offing. It was the end of a warm and uneventful day. I used my knife to scrape a hole in the ground for my hip, wrapped myself in my hooded, leather rain skin, and instantly fell asleep.
We broke camp the next morning as soon as the sun came up and resumed our march to get farther down the road towards London. I once again took the lead with my men strung out behind me every three or four hundred paces. I somehow had a thought behind my eyes that I should chat up everyone coming towards us to ask what they had seen along the way.
It was a somewhat cloudy day and all went well until we had been on the road for about three hours. An overloaded hay wain pulled by a pair of oxen was coming towards me on the road when all of sudden the ragged villager driving it stood up and pointed towards me with a look of alarm on his face. At me? No. I looked over my shoulder and saw commotion and disorder on the road behind me—my men, those that I could see, were galloping up the road towards me and moving fast.
I could not see behind them to understand why they were all coming at a hard gallop, but it could not be good. I immediately strung my longbow by leaning to the side of my horse and pressing one end of my bow on the ground to bend it while I slipped the bowstring on the other end. Then I nocked an arrow and waited. My horse had caught my excitement and pranced a bit as I moved off the road and stood in my stirrups in an effort to see what I might see.
******
One after another, my outriders reached me and wheeled around to form a rough line off to my right as I motioned with my arm for them to do. Those who had not already done so, strung their bows. Behind them, in pursuit, came a dozen or so riders on bigger and slower horses, knights and their mounted squires and sergeants for sure. And behind them, in the distance, I could see a mob of running men on foot trying to catch up with the riders. A typical knight and his retainers.
“They got Charlie and our supply horse,” one of the last of my men to arrive shouted excitedly as he wheeled his horse around and hurriedly strung his longbow.
“Ready your heavies, lads,” I shouted as the on-coming horsemen approached. “Ready your heavies and pick your man. But d
o not push an arrow at them until I give the order, not a one.” Maybe I can avoid a fight was the thought in my mind.
My sergeants and chosen men promptly and properly repeated my orders at the top of their voices as is the custom. Three or four of the men immediately returned their nocked arrows to one of the three quivers each outrider had slung over his shoulder and selected another.
I motioned with my hand for the men to stay in their rough line as I moved forward a few horse lengths to get in front of them to meet the oncoming riders. I kept my arrow nocked with one hand as I raised the other towards the oncoming horsemen with my palm open in the age-old signal to stop.
There was the briefest moment when I thought they would just keep coming and we would have to push our arrows at them without even knowing why we were fighting. But they slowed and brought their horses to a halt. There were almost as many of them as there were of us. About half of them appeared to be knights. Every man had either a drawn sword in his hand or was carrying a lance, and most of them looked like they might know how to use them.
A knight with a coat of arms of three bears on his shield walked his horse forward towards me and arrogantly named himself as Sir Joseph Temple of Dunster Castle—and demanded to know “who are you men and why are you carrying weapons in Somerset.” He was an older man with flecks of grey in his beard. His sword was drawn.
“I am George, an archer from Cornwall,” I said. “We are on our way to London to buy horses,” I told my lie loudly so my men could hear me.
“And you? Why are you and your men attacking peaceful travellers on the king’s road? One of my men is missing and so are two of my horses. I want them returned immediately.”
“Do not make demands on your betters; you would not if you know what is good for you,” was the knight’s response with a threatening and arrogant tone in his voice and a wave of the sword he was holding. He seemed to enjoy displaying his power to impress his men.
While Sir Joseph was posturing, the first of his thirty or so puffing and gasping foot soldiers began to arrive and form themselves into a disorganized mob behind his dozen or so mounted men. Some of them were carrying swords and shields but others had only wooden spears. It was the typical village levy that a minor baron could put into the field; three or four poorly armed serfs or free men on foot for every rider.
The arrival of the knight’s foot was something I appreciated though I doubt neither they nor Sir Joseph knew it or would understand why; I wanted them to arrive and join the mounted men in front of us so they would not be able to get away into the nearby woods if it came to a fight and we wanted to kill them all.
Sir Joseph’s men listened to his arrogant words and seemed to enjoy them. They were smirking at the misfortune they thought had befallen us. So was Sir Joseph as the last of his men on foot reached us. They were all puffing and winded from their exertions.
Sir Joseph pulled his horse around in a tight circle so he could check on his arriving foot and then turned back to me with a satisfied look on his face. I could see that he and some of the other riders with him were wearing shirts of chain.
“He is dead, your man is, just as you will soon be if you do not surrender. We will settle for your horses and weapons and you can be on your way.”
“You killed him? You are sure he is dead?” I asked incredulously. I was truly surprised.
“Of course, I am sure. Now get down from those horses and run off before I change my mind about letting you go.”
I did not hesitate and I certainly did not respond as he expected. Sir Joseph and his men were still smirking as my bow came up and I pushed one of my armour-piercing heavies straight into the chain shirt covering his chest. As I did, I shouted “Push on them lads; shoot them down.”
Sir Joseph was so close that I could not possibly miss, and I did not. The iron tip of my armour-piercing heavy caught him squarely in the chest and went in half way to its fletching despite the chain mail shirt he was wearing.
It was as if everything was happening very slowly. An instant later he was looking down at the goose feathers at the end of the shaft in stunned disbelief. That was when a second heavy from one of my men slammed into him and his horse bolted into mine. It almost knocked my horse down and me out of my saddle. My horse stumbled to the side and almost went down; I was lucky to recover without being dumped on to the ground.
My instant killing of Sir Joseph had caught the Dunster men totally by surprise. Even more importantly, my men had been ready to push out their arrows and had acted faster to get into the fight than the Dunster men, much faster.
There was little wonder in my men’s fast and continuous response; it was something they had practised many times previously. My men began pouring their armour piercing heavies into the Dunster riders and their horses before the riders even had time to raise their shields. Many of them fell before they had a chance to kick their horses in the ribs to close with us and bring their swords and lances into the fight.
It was all over almost before it began. Most of the Dunster horsemen did not even have time to get to us with their swords and lances before they were hit or their grievously wounded horses went down or bolted. In the end, only one of the Dunster knights was able to cover the few feet separating us and reach our rough line of horsemen. He drove his lance deep into an archer’s screaming horse and knocked it and its rider to the ground.
The knight either let loose of his lance as he went on past or it was pulled out of his hands by being stuck in the horse. It did not matter, he had just started to draw his sword and turn his horse to come back and join the melee when he was hit in the back and side by multiple arrows that knocked him all the way out of his saddle.
Some of the Dunster riders had kicked their horses in the ribs and started forward when they realized the fighting had started. But they were close and my outriders were fully ready with their arrows nocked and had already picked their man.
Most of the riders were hit immediately. A few recognized what was happening and instinctively began hauling hard on their horses’ reins to turn them away in an effort to escape. It did not work for them. My outriders poured arrows into their unprotected backs and horses. Only one of the horsemen was able to successfully turn back to escape, and he knocked down some of the Dunster foot as he did.
“Get him,” I shouted as my horse and I regained our balance and I pushed an arrow at the fleeing rider. He hunched down in his saddle and leaned to the left just as I pushed it at him, and I missed. But one or more of the three outriders who had begun galloping after him did not miss. The knight rode on for at least a hundred paces before he slowly slid off his saddle with his foot caught in the stirrup and his panic-stricken horse began dragging him in a big circle.
There were screaming and shouting men, bolting horses, and men on the ground everywhere in the open field next to the London road. My line of horse archers had been scattered and pushed every which way as the Dunster horses with empty saddles and wounded riders bolted forward and crashed into them. Within a few brief seconds the Dunster horsemen had been destroyed almost to a man, and the Dunster foot were throwing down their weapons and running in every direction with the horse archers in hot pursuit and riding them down.
We needed prisoners to question, so I began shouting orders to stop the slaughter.
Chapter Five
We learn something surprising.
Many of the Dunster men we took as prisoners were wounded by the time I was able to stop the killing. Sir Joseph was dead and so were three or four of his riders. All the rest of the riders were wounded except two who were thrown off their wounded horses, several so severely that they would almost certainly need a mercy.
Few, if any, of the Dunster foot escaped into the nearby trees, and those we caught were mostly serfs who did not know anything except that their lord had ordered them to follow Sir Joseph.
The best that could be said of the Dunster men was that they were loyal to their lord even though they wer
e poorly trained and equipped. After we stripped them of their weapons, and the helmets the riders and a couple of the Dunster foot were wearing, I told the Dunster foot to look after each other and their wounded and go home. I also invited them to walk to Cornwall with their families and become apprentice archers if they wanted to be free men and coin-earning soldiers.
I kept the riders.
Two of the riders we took prisoner were knights whose horses went down. Of the others, one was Sir Joseph’s young squire, a boy much too young to be taken into a battle, and three were sergeants, one of whom looked to be an experienced veteran. The two knights could not understand what had happened. We were, after all, just commoners and did not even wear armour.
One of the unwounded knights, the young one, was immediately so arrogant and disrespectful that I seriously considered letting the archers use him for target practice. They were all soon willing to tell us whatever we wanted to know. They started when the young one initially refused to talk to me and I ordered one of my sergeants to begin cutting off his fingers one joint at a time as the Saracens do when they want their questions answered. It only took the loss of one joint to start him babbling.
The squire turned out to be the most helpful of all. He was a young lad and became absolutely terrified as he watched James cut off part of the young knight’s finger and the knight began screaming and sobbing and telling us all he knew. The young squire was particularly helpful because he would have been present when Sir Joseph had been given his orders by the Dunster baron.
I listened intently as the terrified boy told me what he would have heard when Sir Joseph got his orders. After I had asked him a good many questions because what he told me was so alarming, I ordered two of the archers to get ready to ride hard to Okehampton with an urgent message and to take the young squire with them so he could be additionally questioned—“and bring back a couple of cheeses and a stringer of chickens or geese if you can get them.”
The Captain's Men Page 4