King in Waiting

by Griff Hosker

  I waved him off. John had been correct to suggest I allowed the young archer his opportunity. I had learned to scout when I was even younger than Tom. The more you did it, the better you became. I knew that I had taken on the responsibility of scout since Lewes because I felt guilty about losing so many of my men.

  We made good time and were able to stop for ale when we passed through Gainsborough. There was no castle there but the lord of the manor, a Mowbray, was part of the rebel alliance. Luckily for us, he was far away in London along with his men. De Montfort was consolidating his hold on that city and advancing his own men. It suited us. We pushed on to Thorne. Thorne had but eight souls living there, and they had neither inn nor tavern. These were not the people of London and were friendly. Many had fought for the king when he and Lord Percy had defeated the Scots. They sold us their ale and food.

  I listened to the men as they talked in the barn, which we had been allowed to use by the farmer who sold us the ale. All of my men had dreams and hopes for the future. They each knew that it would take money to realise them. The debate was about how much they might need and how best to spend it. Those like Jack of Lincoln, who had spent some time as an outlaw, wanted nothing more than a farm. Will Yew Tree surprised no one when he asserted that he simply wanted an alehouse and wenches to serve both beer and men!

  Stephen Green Feather had the simplest of plans. “I would have a wife and enough bairns to ensure that some survived to become men and women. I do not mind if I have a farm or a tavern, so long as I am my own master and can keep my family. Travelling the land as I have, I envy those who live in peace, but I also know that men like us can take it from them. If I am honest, John of Nottingham, I would live in a home which was close to fellows like you and the rest of the company. I trust all of you.”

  It was a simple plan, but I envied him. I had no such plan. I knew that I had enough money already to buy a small farm or even a tavern. It was in the chest I had buried in Oxford, but I had yet to dig it up, for there it was as safe as the crown jewels in the castle at Windsor. What was the point in digging it up if I did not know what to do with it? My archers continued to speculate about and plan for what seemed to me uncertain futures. Lord Edward had spoken before the battle of Lewes as though it would be the final act, which would bring peace. He was wrong, and all that I saw, for the foreseeable future, was disharmony and conflict.

  I fell asleep with those two cheerful thoughts in my head, but I slept well and rose ready to end the journey and begin our next phase. The castellan’s words had given me hope that all was not lost. I thought about Lord Edward; I had believed him grown up, but his action at Lewes had shown me that he was not ready yet to lead. As for being King; that was a different matter, for his father was as poor a king as there could be, and Edward had enough leadership qualities to be better than him. Perhaps that was due to his father, King John. I wondered how captivity would affect Lord Edward; perhaps it would mature him and show him how to be a king.

  We left the barn after dawn had broken, for to do so earlier would have seemed disrespectful to the people who made us so welcome. We were now fewer than thirty miles from York. We were still vigilant, but I hoped Sir Roger might have passed us in the night. Thorne was just a little way away from the main road between York and Lincoln – it was after Thorne that the land rose a little and became drier. There were one or two rises and falls. We were riding parallel to the River Don and we used it to water the horses; the last two days of slightly easier travel had seen an improvement in their health. We had to husband our mounts, for we would need them in the future.

  As we were all together, I took the opportunity to check up on Tom. He had a great responsibility upon his young shoulders. “Have you seen anything then, Tom?” There was a slight hesitation and I said, “A good scout reports everything; no matter how seemingly insignificant.”

  “Sorry, Captain. It is just that, for the last mile or so I haven’t seen any birds ahead of me. I mean, until the last mile I was the one who spooked them. I had grown used to the pigeons taking flight when I approached.” He pointed to the river. “Each time we were close to the river then the ducks and waterfowl made a noise and swam across the river. I haven’t seen any for the last mile.”

  I nodded. “Stephen Green Feather, ride ahead with Tom. The rest of you, string your bows. It may be a waste of time, but Tom here has a bad feeling.”

  I saw the panic on his face. “But it might be nothing!”

  I smiled. “All it costs us is the effort to put a string on a bow. When you spook the next birds let us know, and we will unstring them.”

  I chose a new string and picked out a war arrow. After mounting Eleanor, I laid the bow across the front of my saddle and tucked the arrow in my belt; I really needed an arrow bag, but did not seem to have time to make one.

  We watched as Tom and Stephen rode ahead. I let them ride 170 paces before I pumped my arm and we followed them. I peered ahead and looked for possible ambush sites. So long as the river lay to our left then any attack had to come from our right.

  We were passing open fields of beans, for this was fertile country. On the higher ground, in the distance, I saw animals grazing. A drainage ditch lay next to the road. The beans were just coming into flower and they would give an attacker cover. The road rose and, as we neared the top, I saw Tom dismount and go to the right of his horse. I dug my heels into Eleanor and, holding my bow in my right hand, I nocked an arrow in my left. I could transfer them quickly if I needed to. My men were so well trained they needed no words from me. I saw Stephen Green Feather lean down, ostensibly to speak with Tom, but in reality he was nocking an arrow.

  We reached them just a few heartbeats too late. The crossbow bolt slammed into Stephen’s shoulder. Even so, he tried to turn, to raise his bow and send an arrow back towards his attacker. The second bolt hit him in the chest. He tumbled backwards: it was a mortal wound. We all hated crossbows with a vengeance, and now we had even more reason. Tom had raised his bow and, using his horse for cover, sent an arrow to our right. I heard a cry. By then we had reached the rise and I saw, galloping towards us, Sir Roger and four men at arms. Four other men rode behind him. That meant there were six men hidden, and at least two of them were crossbowmen.

  I shouted, “John of Nottingham, take Robin and David, deal with the men in the bean field. They have crossbows.”

  “Aye, Captain!” He and the other two archers wheeled right while Will and Jack reined in with me next to Tom. As I dismounted, two bolts slammed into my saddle and Eleanor reared. One of them must have pricked her.

  “I hit one of the crossbows, Captain, but I think that two remain.”

  “Don’t worry about them; John will deal with them. We have mounted men to deal with. Bodkins!”

  The horsemen were eighty paces from us – they must have waited beyond sight. I now cursed my own choice of arrow. I aimed my war arrow at the advancing horsemen; I would not be able to make a damaging hit, but I could worry them. The arrow hit the horse of the man at arms next to Sir Roger. The animal jerked to the right, and horse and rider were so close to the water that they fell into the river. It was a lucky hit, but I would take it.

  I nocked a bodkin. Jack and Robin had bodkins ready, and their arrows slammed into two of the men at arms. They were now thirty paces from us, and each arrow went through the mail as though it were a piece of cloth. The men were thrown over the backs of their saddles.

  Tom had vengeance on his mind. He was a skilled archer, and his arrow went into the open mouth of another man at arms. He fell, too. I aimed my bodkin at the knight. The other four horsemen had already closed enough for us to strike, when Will and Robin sent their war arrows at them, and one horse, along with a man at arms, was hit. The injured horse and rider turned and galloped into the bean field. I heard cries from my right as John and the others dealt with the crossbowmen and the last of the ambushers. I concentrated on the knight. He had plate armour, a couched lance and a shield. I
knew that he expected to win. It was almost impossible to penetrate plate, even with a bodkin.

  He was forty paces from me when I released. I had a full draw, and I sent the arrow not at his chest but at his neck. There, he just had his mail coif. The arrow struck him cleanly and almost passed through, only the fletch stopped it.

  “Stand aside!” I shouted, as his horse was still galloping without its rider and would not stop. We let the animal pass between us as the lance fell to the ground. “Will, see to Stephen.” It was a forlorn hope, for I knew he was dead, but I had to ask.

  His voice was sad as he answered, “He is dead, Captain. Damned crossbows! They are the devil’s machine!”

  I moved the horses aside as I hurried to the bean field. John and Robin were leading two horses. “David the Welshmen is hunting the last of them. Those horsemen you hit joined them. In total, five escaped, Captain. Should we go after them?”

  I shook my head. “They are hired brigands. They will run as far from us as they can, and they have a wounded man and a horse. Jack, go and fetch back the war horse and the knight’s body.”

  “Aye, Captain. That was one of the bravest arrows I have ever seen.”

  I nodded absentmindedly. “Search the bodies, take all of value and then hurl them in the Don.”

  I looked to my left and saw the horse which had been hit and fallen into the water. Its body was floating. The arrow had not killed but had weakened it, and then it had drowned. Of the man at arms, there was no sign. An archer might have survived the fall, but not a man in hauberk and helmet with a sword at his waist.

  David the Welshman returned. “The others have fled. They were heading east as fast as their horses would take them.”

  It took some time to collect the mail and weapons. We let the bodies slip into the Don and loaded the mail, plate and swords onto the backs of our horses. “Disguise the plate with a piece of sacking. That would be hard to explain when we reach York.”

  Then we buried Stephen Green Feather. He would never have a wife, nor see his children grow up. His dream had been ended with two crossbow bolts. We made sure that his bow was buried with him and that he was well covered. The river would flood and his body would sink deeper. He would not be disturbed.

  We mounted our horses. Jack of Lincoln pointed at the knight’s horse, a destrier, and said,“And how do we explain the war horse, Captain?”

  “Simple, John, you ride the warhorse. He looks similar to Eleanor, and no one questions my right to ride such a horse. Get rid of the knight’s livery.”

  As we rode towards York, John of Nottingham said, “Men knew he was hunting us. Those who escaped may talk.”

  “Then let them talk. Aye, they know my name and they know my trade, but you are all unknown. I would argue, if it came to court, that we were attacked.”

  “He was a knight!”

  “And an enemy of Lord Edward. Our fates, it seems, are entwined. I must help Lord Edward and his father regain the throne, or I risk losing my life!” I laughed. “Life is never simple, is it?”

  I made it sound frivolous but it was not. I could kill a knight in battle, but at any other time it would be considered murder. Had I fought him with a sword, that would have been different. Life was not fair, but a man made the best of it or he was not a man.

  York was the most important city in the north. It was from here that the Scots had been repulsed during the anarchy. The politics of the south were largely irrelevant, for the city was ruled by a sherriff and an archbishop. I hoped that we could find employment, but our first problem was gaining access to the city.

  “What is your business?” The sentry’s tone was aggressive, and I heard the murmurings from my men. They were not happy.

  I smiled. “We are here to trade and then to seek work.”

  “Have you any coins? The Sherriff will not allow vagabonds to enter.”

  Thanks to Sir Roger and his men I had a full purse, and I reluctantly opened it for him. His attitude changed immediately and he smiled. “Then welcome, sir. I would recommend The Angel, by the river. It is a good inn and they have a fine stable.”

  I smiled a false smile such as the one he had given me. “Thank you!”

  I had no intention of staying in an inn recommended by him. I had heard that The Saddle was an honest inn and we repaired there. We had been given directions by other warriors who had frequented it. Will Yew Tree’s eyes widened when he saw the size of the head on the ale, which was being carried by a buxom wench. “I have died and gone to heaven!” Will had not had enough ale on our journey north.

  The inn proved a good choice. There were no bed bugs, the price was reasonable, the ale good and the food edible. We had endured worse. We did nothing that first night, save enjoy the fact that we had food, ale and would have beds. We did not fear a knife in the night, and the enemies who had pursued us were dead. Life was getting better.

  The next morning, after checking on our horses, we split up to explore the city. We needed employment, but we also needed other things. We had to have more arrowheads, and we needed a blacksmith. I went with Jack of Lincoln and we headed for the market. John of Nottingham would seek a weaponsmith, while the rest would do as we did and seek a merchant who needed good men to guard their belongings.

  The first four we tried did not seem interested. They sought men at arms and, despite our swords, we did not appear robust enough. Having spent all morning on our fruitless quest, we were approaching noon and decided to find an alehouse. Hunting employers was thirsty work.

  We found an inn, which was crowded. That was a good sign. As we made our way to the barrels to get served, I bumped into a merchant. “Sorry, my lord!” I had learned that civility brought its own reward. When the merchant turned, I recognised him. “Dickon of Doncaster!”

  The merchant laughed. “I never thought to see you again! What did you say your name was, War Bow?”

  “Aye, sir, and I am the captain of a company of archers now!”

  His face split into a smile and he said, “Then we are well met. I can see that you and your companion have a thirst. Buy your ale and I will find you and speak with you, for this is a most fortuitous meeting, and I think that Fate has sent you to me.”

  Jack and I shouldered our way through the crowd to order our ale. We were helped by the fact that we were broad-shouldered archers, and we barrelled our way through. I held up two fingers and the serving wench nodded.

  “Who was that, Captain?”

  “A merchant, Dickon of Doncaster, whom I served in Poitou. My friend and I helped him to take some wagons through bandit country. With luck, he may wish to employ us.”

  “In Poitou, Captain? I thought we needed to stay in England.”

  “We do, but let us hear what he has to say first, eh? He obviously wished to speak with me. Let us find a corner where we can talk.”

  With our ale in our hands, we looked around for a place to sit. There were no seats, but there was a space where we could stand, so we made our way there. The ale was passable. We had drunk better in the homes of the alewives heading north, but it would do. Jack said, when we were halfway through the ale, “Here is your friend, Captain.”

  I looked to where he nodded and saw Dickon and what looked like a younger version of himself. He reached us and said, “This is a popular inn! Captain, this is my son, Geoffrey of York, and this is the archer I told you of, Geoffrey, Gerald War Bow.”

  I bobbed my head. “Sir.”

  Geoffrey of York grinned. “As we are of an age, archer, I do not think that I yet merit the title sir.” He raised his beaker of ale. “Well met, fellows!” We all toasted.

  Dickon leaned in to speak to us. Where we stood was quieter than the rest of the alehouse, for the men around us were serious drinkers, but he obviously wanted us to hear his words. “So, Gerald, are you on your way to war? Or,” he raised an eyebrow, “are you fleeing a war?”

  I had the same uncomfortable feeling when I spoke to Dickon now, that I had expe
rienced when I met him close by the abbey on the Humber. He seemed able to look into my mind and know what secrets I was hiding. But I had changed in the years since I had first met him. I now knew how to keep a straight face.

  “We seek employment, sir.”

  Seemingly satisfied, he beamed. “Capital! That is what we wanted to hear eh, Geoffrey?”

  “You may be the answer to my prayers, archer. When my father fetched me here, he told me what you and your friend did in Poitou. Is this the same fellow?”

  Dickon shook his head. “It is not. I do not know him. Although the split nose suggests an interesting past!”

  “No, this is not he, Roger died in Poitou saving the life of an English lord.” I decided, for the moment, to keep Lord Edward’s identity to myself. “This is one of my archers, Jack of Lincoln.”

  “I am sorry to hear of Roger’s death. He was a good man and I liked him. You say archers, how many men are in your company?”

  “There are now seven of us, sir.”

  The father and son exchanged a look. Dickon said, “Do you have horses?”

  The last time, Dickon had to furnish us with mounts. “We do, sir, and we each have a spare.”

  “Better and better. Geoffrey, go get more ale, and I will make Gerald a proposal.” His son seemed happy to leave us to speak. “My son runs this end of my business, the English end. I work in France, Poitou and Flanders. He is young but he is learning. This unrest in the south has caused him problems. We have had some of our wagons taken by bandits and also by lords who do not obey the law.”

  “Here, close to York, sir?”

  He shook his head. “Despite the Scots, the north is safe. The northern barons keep order. It is once we try to cross to Cheshire or through the Midlands that we have difficulties. You and your men can handle swords?”

  “We are all proficient.”

  His son returned. “I have explained the problem, Geoffrey.”

  Geoffrey of York handed us our ale. “We have a good business, Captain of Archers. We began by trading sheepskins but we have expanded. My father now imports items from Germany, Flanders and even France. The port fees here in York are a fraction of those in London. We were doing well until we expanded further south, and then we found difficulties.”