“Hmm,” said Bertrand, “perhaps I had better speak to young Claude.”
“Begging your pardon, my lord,” Connell said hesitantly, “but I’d leave well alone, if I were you. You’ll make things worse if you interfere.”
Bertrand laughed.
“Do you agree, Etienne?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Very well.”
The following day a message of defiance came from Gilles. That night, when they made camp, scouts reported that the enemy’s force was less than five miles away, encamped on a stretch of high barren moorland. As dawn broke, Raoul’s forces mounted up and prepared to do battle.
It was a poor day for a fight. A thick mist swathed the ground and visibility, in places, was merely a few feet. It would be almost impossible to tell friend from foe.
“You’ll stay here with Con,” Raoul told Etienne sternly, drawing rein by a clump of scrubby gorse bushes.
“But that’s not fair!”
“I promised your mother no harm would come to you. In this fog I can hardly guarantee that, can I?”
“You’re treating me like a baby,” Etienne said hotly.
“Look, Gilles has fewer men than we do but in conditions like this, he has all the advantage. I can’t reconcile it with my conscience to put you in danger. Con, I’m relying on you to keep him here. By force if necessary.”
“I was hoping for a go myself.”
“Not this time, Con. Give me your word.”
“You have it, Raoul.”
“Good lad.
As he touched Hercules’s flanks with his spurs and rode away, he could still hear the younger boy’s voice, raised in protest. Raoul understood his feelings but he was not going to change his mind.
Moments later he was in the thick of the fight and Etienne was banished from his thoughts. Apart from the weather, it was like being back in Palestine again. Raoul stood in the stirrups, swinging his great sword with courage and skill. Even the destrier’s blood was up, using its powerful hooves, responding to its rider’s least command.
After some considerable time, Raoul found himself alongside Bertrand.
“How are we faring?” Raoul panted.
“Well, I think. Gilles’s men are fighters but they haven’t had our practice!”
“My thoughts exactly!”
“Come with me, Bertrand; I think that’s Gilles over there!”
Hercules bounded forward. Dealing efficiently with two knights who threatened to block his way, Raoul cut his way through to their leader.
Gilles, in Radenoc colours and with a blood-red plume on his helmet, wheeled his great black stallion round and raised his sword.
“So, it’s the Lord of Beauchamp, is it?”
“For now!” Raoul’s sword bit into the scarlet tower on his enemy’s shield. “I’ll be Lord of Radenoc soon.”
“You used to wear my colours. Where’s your bastard’s crest today?”
Their swords met with a deafening clang.
“I’m no... bastard!”
Gilles laughed.
“That’s not...what I heard!”
Out of the corner of his eye Raoul could see that Bertrand had taken on a veritable giant of a man who appeared to be covered in black fur. He had to force himself not to look again to confirm his impression. He raised his sword and spurred Hercules forward.
Gilles parried the blow and sparks flew from the metal.
“You don’t fight too badly...for a bastard,” he sneered.
Determinedly, Raoul resisted the temptation to reply. He must keep his mind cool and assess the older man’s weaknesses. As they fought, Gilles continued to taunt him. Each blow was accompanied by a sneer or an insult until Raoul could feel his anger rising. He met a thrust from Gilles with his shield and brought Hercules round. As he did so, Raoul spotted another rider in Radenoc colours appearing through the fog. He seemed to be riding straight at him, his weapon levelled.
“Christ,” he muttered, driving in his spurs. He was holding his ground against Gilles but against two such fighters he was bound to fail.
The big horse bounded aside and Raoul took another swipe at Gilles as his new attacker reined in and pulled his mount round. At that moment a Morbihan rider loomed out of the mist and came to Raoul’s side, swinging his own sword to meet the newcomer’s.
“Thanks,” Raoul breathed. “I was hard-pressed.”
Then, unmistakable in Léon’s gold, Roland and several of his knights surged forward.
“Cover me, Piriac!” Gilles shouted. “Bellec, let’s go.”
As his two opponents turned tail, Raoul finally allowed himself to look towards Bertrand. Nearly unseating de Courcy with a final blow, the fur-pelted giant bounded away with the Léon knights in determined pursuit.
“My God, Bertrand, was that a man or a bear?” he called to his friend.
“I hardly know!” de Courcy panted. “I’m just glad Roland appeared when he did.”
Now that the field seemed to be suddenly clear of the enemy, Raoul turned to the man who had come so fortunately to his own aid.
“You have my thanks,” he told him.
Claude du Courmier removed his close fitting helmet.
“As my lord Bertrand’s squire, it is my duty to assist you,” he said.
Something about the boy’s expression made Raoul want to hit him.
Later, when the mist had cleared, the opposing army seemed to have vanished. Quite a number of Gilles’s men had been killed. Others, who had been injured, were escorted away under guard if they were able to walk. A few of Raoul’s men were hurt but none mortally. The main casualties had been the horses.
At camp that night Etienne was sullen and sulky.
“I am starting to regret having brought you,” Raoul said. “What’s the matter with you now?”
“I should have been defending you – not Claude.”
“I see. You fight as well as he does, do you?”
“I’ll show you – and him! Let me...”
“It does not in any way suit my purpose for my own men to fight amongst themselves. Bertrand, tell Etienne he’s not to challenge Claude.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” Bertrand came across and sat down. “Tell you what, when Raoul’s Lord of Radenoc we’ll have a tournament and you can prove your skill. How would that be?”
“But he’s calling me a coward!”
“Well, you know you’re not,” Raoul told him. “You stayed behind on my orders – and very unwillingly too. I’d have had you whipped if you’d disobeyed me.”
The next day they resumed their journey west. Although the mist was not as thick as it had been the previous day, low cloud and rain hampered their progress. Raoul was pleased he had men from that region otherwise they might well have lost their way.
Two days later it was not rain or mist but smoke which made travelling difficult. Crops were burning in fields and the roofs of cottages had been fired. One whole village was burning.
“What’s this?” Raoul murmured to Bertrand when, some miles further on, he found their road ahead was blocked by a mass of peasants, armed with sickles and stout sticks.
“Who can say? I don’t like the look of it.”
Ignoring protests from both Bertrand and Roland, he rode forward alone, nodding to Connell to follow him. Behind him, his army halted and men’s hands went to their sword-hilts. With apparent calm, Raoul dismounted.
“Take the reins, Con.” He lowered his voice. “Make a dash for it if you have to.”
A spokesman from the crowd stepped forward, cleared his throat and addressed Raoul in halting Norman French.
“Are you Baron Beauchamp?”
“Yes.”
“We are...told that you will...” He conferred with a man beside him. “...Will cut our necks if...”
“It will be easier, I believe, if you speak your own language,” Raoul said in swift and fluent Breton.
A murmur of astonishment ran through the crowd.
>
“We understood that you were Norman, sir. A... a...favourite of the French whore.”
Queen Eleanor, Raoul realised after a moment’s doubt.
“My grandfather was Lord of Radenoc,” Raoul explained calmly, “but my family were forced to flee from Brittany. I was born in Normandy. My friends are helping me to win back what should have been my own. I will gladly tell you more but perhaps you might explain to me why your village has been destroyed and by whom.”
A muttering could be heard amongst the crowd. Encouraged by what he heard, Raoul spoke again.
“I have food and drink in plenty. If your people are in need maybe we can help each other. Could we sit down together and hear each other’s stories?”
“Aye,” said the spokesman after another brief conference with his fellows. “That’s fair.”
Once he was seated with the peasants’ leaders, Raoul gave a more detailed description of his origins.
“When my cause is won, those of my men who are Normans will return to their homes. My own people will then be sufficient to serve me.”
This seemed to please his listeners.
Connell also spoke up for his master and was listened to intently, to Etienne’s disgust.
“I can’t understand what any of you were saying,” he complained to Connell when he returned. “And their manners! Faugh! Look at the disgusting way they eat.”
“If you’d ever known hunger you wouldn’t be so quick to condemn them that has,” Connell said hotly.
It was Bertrand’s opinion that Raoul’s fluency in Breton was more convincing than any account of himself that he or anyone else could give.
Raoul’s bitter anger against Gilles grew as he listened in turn to the Bretons’ story. Rumours had been spread that this was a Norman invasion. The villagers had been told that Raoul himself would lay waste to any community that had not already been destroyed, raping the women and slaughtering children as he went. The people had watched helplessly as Gilles’s men had fired their crops and dwellings while informing them that it was for their own protection and on the orders of the Count of Léon. The peasants, desperate and starving, had then taken refuge in the forest.
Lord Roland informed them gravely that Gilles’s men were liars and scoundrels.
“I shall personally ensure that your homes are re-built,” he said. “And if some of you feel that you can join Lord Raoul in his attempt to regain his birth right, we would welcome you gladly.”
After that, in each parish that they entered, many men offered themselves and their weapons, however makeshift and few, to Raoul’s cause. Word spread quickly. Some men came in from parishes further west and there was even a steady trickle from Radenoc.
While this was pleasing, Gilles’s methods were not. There had been no sight of his force since the battle. Instead, at night, after they had made camp and darkness had fallen, a few of his men would creep stealthily into the camp and wreak havoc. Supplies were burned or spoiled. Horses were killed or driven off. Every night there would be stabbings, sometimes fatal, and there were vicious mutilations. However many sentries were set, some of Gilles’s men still managed to get through. Even though some were caught and killed, the next night others would come instead.
Increasingly, Raoul’s own part of the camp was targeted and he became, as each night passed, more and more anxious – not for his own safety but for those close to him: Etienne, Connell, even Bertrand. It was not their quarrel, after all.
“Nonsense,” said de Courcy when Raoul told him how he felt. “All of us chose to come with you – if it hadn’t been for me you would never have set out at all. Don’t tell me you’re regretting it.”
“No. It’s just that I’d prefer a clean fight – single combat even – to these...treacherous tactics.”
“Gilles knows that. He’s trying to wear you down.”
“He’s succeeding! I don’t think I’ve had more than an hour’s unbroken sleep in five nights. I find myself on my feet with my dagger in my hand at the least sound.”
“I’m the same.”
“Call the barons together, Bertrand. It’s time we came up with a plan to finish it. We can’t go on like this.”
A short while later the leaders of Raoul’s army were seated round the central camp fire. Their squires and pages poured wine for them then sat down nearby, each eager to hear the latest news and to listen to their plans. Tightly grouped around this inner circle, proof of their fear of a surprise attack, was a double ring of their strongest knights. On the edges of the camp and by the horses, numerous sentries had been posted.
“Our problem, as I see it,” Roland began, “is that we’ve no clear picture of Gilles’s intentions.”
“He can’t keep on just harrying us,” said de L’Orne, one of Eleanor’s Norman barons. “He must be planning something.”
“He could be trying to weaken and demoralise your men before luring us into an ambush,” suggested Brulon, another Norman.
“It’s hard to see where, though,” Raoul said. “This, as I recall, is increasingly open country. There’s nowhere to lie in wait for us. My best guess is that he expects us to besiege Radenoc. That would explain the burning of crops and his attempts to spoil our supplies.”
“But does he know that his own supplies are good enough to hold out for long? It’s September now – he’d have to sit it out until the spring anyway.”
“According to Alain, Radenoc’s priest, Gilles has sold off most of the barony’s produce for the last two years.” There was disgust in Roland’s voice. “The people there are virtually starving and there’s no surplus in the castle, from what I understand.”
“Have the scouts located his camp?”
“Aye. It’s near the shore, between Locronan and the castle.”
“If only we could get someone inside it,” Raoul said with a sigh. “I’d give a lot to know what’s said at his camp fire.”
At that moment, across the camp, came the sound of voices raised in anger or alarm. The commanders leaped to their feet.
“What’s to do there?” Raoul shouted. “Have you caught one of the murdering bastards?”
“I don’t know, my lord,” the sentry replied. “There’s some horsemen – they threw down their weapons and came in peacefully enough.”
“Don’t relax your guard, men. It could be a trick.”
The men, six in number, had dismounted – with the forceful assistance of Raoul’s men. Now they were being pushed or dragged towards the centre of the camp.
“Let them go,” Raoul commanded. “We are safe enough here.”
Unconvinced the soldiers remained close, their daggers still in their hands.
“I don’t blame you for being suspicious, my lord,” one of the newcomers said. He was older than the others and seemed to be their leader. “I assume that you are Raoul de Metz?”
“I am. Perhaps you will tell me who you are – and why you are here.”
“I am Guillaume Rénard and I was, until a short time ago, captain of the garrison at Radenoc.”
“Sheath your weapons,” Raoul said, seeing the looks of surprise on the faces of his soldiers. “Have you come with a message from my cousin Gilles?”
“No, my lord, I have not.”
“What then?”
Rénard hesitated and then spoke.
“I never thought that I would ever declare myself to be a turn-coat – but so I am. I served Lord Armand faithfully for many years and I expected to do the same for his son. But I find I cannot.”
“Why?”
“The man is corrupt, perverted, cares for nothing. I cannot stomach his motives or his methods. I cannot reconcile it with my conscience to obey his orders whether he is Lord of Radenoc or not. These men feel the same. We offer you our service.”
Somewhat stiffly he and the other men knelt.
“I am happy to accept it,” Raoul said warmly. “Please, get up. Fetch their weapons, one of you.”
“Are you sure that you
can trust them?” Bertrand asked. “Do nothing rash, Raoul, it could be a trick.”
“It’s no trick.” Roland du Plestin came forward and gripped Rénard’s hand. “I know from your priest that you have done much to guard your young mistress. Where is she now?”
“She was left at the castle, my lord.”
“Are many with her?”
“Women and menials only. This time Gilles commanded everyone to ride with him.”
“So Radenoc is undefended?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come, we must talk this over more fully. Connell, tell Etienne to bring food and wine for these gentlemen. Take one or two others and see to their horses. We might be able to loop round to the north and take the castle from under his nose? Would that be possible, Rénard?”
Raoul’s weariness seemed to have vanished and he eagerly questioned the Radenoc men about how best to proceed.
Dawn was lightening the eastern sky by the time all the alternatives had been debated. Not bothering to disturb Etienne, Raoul rolled himself in a blanket by the fire and tried to snatch some sleep. His brain whirled round unceasingly as he visualised each possibility in turn. On the whole he favoured the idea of securing the castle first then, leaving it guarded, riding out to do battle with Gilles. He could also make sure that Catherine, Roland’s niece, was safe. If they travelled fast they should reach it in less than two days. Eventually, exhausted, his tactics became strangely muddled and he fell asleep.
What seemed to be moments later, he heard Connell’s voice calling to him to wake up. Instinctively he reached for his dagger and bounded to his feet.
“What is it?” he demanded. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Raoul, but I can’t find Etienne or Claude,” Connell said.
“Has there been an attack?”
“There may have been. I don’t know.”
“Are any of the horses missing?”
“No. Saracen and du Courmier’s horse are with the others. No-one’s heard anything – there’s no other damage at all. But I’ve just got a feeling something’s wrong. I looked all over – there’s no sign of ‘em.”
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