Deus Militis - Soldiers of God

by Jonathan A Longmore

  The night had passed peacefully and it seemed they might have another day to prepare. The men of the garrison, the knights, soldiers, archers, each and every man who had volunteered or stayed in the city in the knowledge they would be attacked, were exhausted. All the preparations, mixed with the lack of knowledge as to when the attack would take place was starting to fray men’s nerves. None of the patrols had returned and de Capo was starting to assume the worst when one of the men shouted, ‘Sir Ralf!

  De Capo looked south and saw on the distant ridge of the hill three riders cantering along the top, before turning towards the Roman road.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘De Clare is less than ten miles away,’ said de Capo to the men around the table, ‘we can expect him to arrive sometime today, unless the weather worsens, in which case we will gain a day.’

  Using his dagger he pointed to the map, ‘He will approach Boley Hill from the south and likely attack the city walls from the south east while he pounds the walls of the Keep with his rocks......the patrols have been sent back out and instructed to return when he is an hour away. If necessary the suburbs will be fired and any of the citizens still in the City will be sent to the Cathedral for shelter.’ He looked up at the grim faced men and knew what they were thinking, destroying the homes of the people in the City was a harsh action, but they all knew the rebels should be denied everything.

  Henry leant forward and pointed at the map, ‘If de Clare attacks first and takes the city he will be able to attack the bridge house, will it hold?’

  Gilbert was affronted and glared angrily at the man who was once his protégé, ‘Of course it will hold! The damn thing is built to withstand a siege and if it falls then we retreat back to the bailey. The key is denying de Montfort the bridge, if that falls the city falls and I will die before I give that bastard traitor the bridge!’

  The men round the table all stood tall and murmured their assent at the words Gilbert spoke.

  ‘Let us all pray it doesn’t come to that, ‘said de Capo. ‘Now,’ he continued, ‘I have patrols on the far bank and they will return once de Montfort has been spotted. The Keep is fully provisioned and from now the walls will be half manned at all times.’

  He looked at each man individually, ‘You all have your orders, fight hard!’

  Henry left the Kings Hall and climbed the steps to the west curtain wall to look out over the river. There was no sign yet of his Uncles army and he hoped they would not have to face each other in battle. Simon de Montfort was as good a fighter as Henry and there would be no bets on who would win. The city guard was out ordering people to make their way into the Cathedral, for that was the safest place for them. Once the city fell the castle would be the main focus of the fighting and killing and anyone within the walls would be fair game.

  Henry walked along the wall towards the main gate house, he passed the cross wall and smiled as he saw Jerold still pushing hard the men he had found to boost the numbers. People started to head to the Cathedral and the men on the castle walls were keeping careful watch across the river waiting for the first signs of the rebels. The stream of people entering the keep with provisions had slowed to a trickle and men were starting to arm themselves and prepare for the coming fight.

  Henry saw his own men preparing their weapons, cleaning and sharpening, checking each other’s mail and plate to ensure it was secure and he smiled as he watched them looking after each other and laughing. Several looked up and seeing him walking the wall, waved. They were joined by a group of Templar’s who did what men of war had done for centuries; examined each other’s weapons, testing them for balance and sharpness and laughing as men nervously joked about death and killing.

  Henry was glad the Templar’s had joined them in this fight. Exceptional warriors who would fight to the death. Maybe they were there instead of the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

  ‘Sir Henry!’

  Henry looked down into the outer bailey and saw Sir Geoffrey Marston climbing the steps to join him. The Templar commander approached and smiled, ‘My apologies Sir Henry, we have only been briefly introduced and my duties have kept me distant. It would have been good to have met under different circumstances.’

  Henry gave small nod acknowledging the unnecessary apology, everyone was busy and a short interlude before the slaughter began was welcome, ‘I was surprised to see Templar’s here,’ said Henry, ‘I had heard your order would not take sides in this matter.’

  Sir Geoffrey laughed out loud, ‘I heard the same thing. I also heard you were against the King.’

  ‘Yet here we both are,’ said Henry, ‘it seems that rumours abound.’

  ‘Aye, a number of Templar’s are against taking sides but the Master in London deemed otherwise and so here we are.’

  ‘And you?’ Henry asked, ‘Were you one of those against taking sides?’

  Sir Geoffrey loosened the blade in his scabbard and looked about the castle, ‘I only have one commitment and that is to the Templar’s. I go where I am told and I fight who they tell me to fight.’

  Henry raised an eyebrow, ‘And what of your men?’

  ‘I think our men are equal Sir Henry, yours fight for you and mine fight for me. I think together we make a formidable foe.’

  ‘Aye, then we fight for each other.’ Henry felt a pride they would fight together for a cause other than a political one. They both fought for duty and for their comrades. He knew if necessary they would die together, ‘How long have you known de Capo?’

  Sir Geoffrey thought for a moment, ‘Not long, you have issues?’

  Henry shook his head, ‘No, my uncle ordered him to this task and from what I hear he is more than capable.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I heard rumours he forgives his enemies, he defeats them and lets them go.’

  ‘Rumours,’ the Templar looked at Henry with a wry look, ‘remain rumours until they are facts!’

  A shout from the keep made them look up and they saw one of the archers waving and pointing towards Boley Hill. The archers on the other towers were also looking in the same direction and a bustle of activity from the inner bailey caused them to hurry towards the Keep.

  By the time they reached the bottom of the steps men were starting to crowd on the southern curtain wall. People from the city began gathering in groups and Henry knew something bad had happened as they all stood in profound silence. Both men bounded up the steps into the Keep and started to run up the stairs towards the top joined by Ranulf and other knights including Sir Roger and de Capo. By the time they reached the top, there were a number of people already standing against the southern crenulations all staring towards Boley Hill.

  The sight that greeted them shocked even them. The two men who had been watching for the enemy on the far side of the hill had been stripped naked and impaled. As the castle defenders watched, the men were hoisted into the air as their stakes were dug into the ground by their captors. They were still alive, and their groans floated from the top of the hill through the still air to the castle. Their mouths were gaping holes that spewed out blood down their fronts and each man watching prayed they would die soon.

  A bearded knight on horseback, his black cross prominent on the red surcoat, rode to the skyline and stared at the castle before raising his sword and pointing it at the Keep. His horse turned from one side to the other showing an eagerness to gallop down the hill towards the walls and the rider struggled to control the beast before approaching both men and with two sweeps beheaded them both. One of the men on the hill picked up the heads and threw them towards the castle, watching as they rolled down the slope towards the moat while the executioner sat on his horse and stared at his audience.

  The Castle was silent and the City fell into an oppressive stupor as word of what happened quickly spread. The only sounds were the sounds of the animals driven into the inner bailey for slaughter drifting over the castle grounds as the human population held a vigil over the bodies of the two me
n, marking the beginning of hostilities between those within and those without.

  ‘Who are they?’ Sir Roger asked bitterly.

  ‘The Imperial Order of Jerusalem,’ de Capo replied as he stared in horror at the carnage his nemesis had caused.

  ‘What did you say?’ Sir Roger looked at de Capo, the anger in his eyes evident.

  Everyone looked towards de Capo who stared silently at the man he last saw in Acre storming out of the office of the Kings Constable after being banished to Cyprus. The wind whistled through the crowd of men but was almost drowned out by the silence. Sir Roger broke that silence, ‘Sir Ralf! Who is that bastard?’

  De Capo sighed, ‘That is Reynaud de Chauvigny. The Butcher of Baysan, Master of their Order.’

  ‘He is the Butcher of Baysan?’

  Most people had heard the stories. Many stories and rumours emerged from the holy land, some miraculous, some ridiculous and others like the Baysan Massacre almost unbelievable. An act of utmost horror committed in the name of God.

  ‘I’ve heard the stories,’ Sir Roger said as he stared at the two bodies on the hill, ‘but I didn’t believe them.’ He looked back at de Capo, ‘Children and babies?’

  De Capo nodded and remembered vividly the day Osmond le Vicomt explained what happened. Children and babies not just massacred but sliced up in front of their parents. Women raped time and again and once finished with were forced to watch their men emasculated and have their hands and feet cut off. While many lay dying the women that still lived were impaled. Very few people escaped, Yusuf ibn Ayyub and his family were one of the few but were under oath not to speak of it because of the consequences it would have for the Christians.

  Le Vicomt had wept as he told the story. The people were innocents; in fact they were making their way to Acre to ask for sanctuary as opponents of the Mameluk regime but instead they found torture and death from the men they thought would protect them.

  ‘What are they doing here?

  De Capo suspected they would follow him but even he was not expecting de Chauvigny to be at Rochester. He could not tell anyone the truth, so he decided to hide the truth for the good of the truth and finally realised what the Constable in Acre meant all those months before, ‘They have been sent by the Pope. Holy mercenaries to assist in bringing the King to heal.’

  Sir Roger turned, accepting the lie easily and stared at the bearded knight who simply sat and stared back at the people on the Keep, ‘So, this is this how de Clare makes war on Englishmen.’

  Ralf de Capo loosened his blade as he turned to speak to the Sheriff, ‘Aye Sir Roger, I think it is clear where we stand. No quarter! That is my order,’ he shouted, ‘none to be asked or given!’

  He turned to the Earl of Surrey who stood stony faced at the spectacle on the hill, ‘Sir John, will you pass that instruction on?’

  The Earl sighed, ‘Aye, I’ll pass it on, can’t believe what we have just witnessed.’

  De Capo called up at the archer in the south eastern tower, ‘Can you hit that bastard?’

  The biting wind was blowing hard to the south and although this would increase the range of the bow the accuracy was the issue. But the archer was a skilled man; he fitted an arrow, drew the bow to its maximum, pointed high in the sky, waited, made an adjustment for the wind and released it. The arrow flew high. Everyone watched as it appeared to be on target, but incredibly at the last moment the wind changed and blew to the east. The arrow plummeted towards de Chauvigny before drifting to the left missing him by several inches.

  De Chauvigny lifted his sword in mock salute, turned and disappeared over the crest.

  Almost as quickly the wind changed direction again and continued blowing to the south.

  The archer looked down at the angry looking de Capo and shouted, ‘I’m sorry my Lord, the wind caught it.’

  De Capo cursed, and turned to Henry, ‘Take some men and bring those bodies back. I see no reason they should remain, except to instil fear in the population.’

  Henry nodded as he stared at the dead men, ‘Aye.’

  As Sir Roger continued to stare at the bodies de Capo glanced behind and noticed Blanche standing near the entrance to the stairs, staring at the hill with tears in her eyes. Evelyn was by her side and she was equally distressed as the sight of the tortured men removed any sense of the romantic in a castle siege. De Capo met Blanche’s moist eyes and without a word she turned to make her way back into the Keep. He thrust his emotions aside and turned to the Earl of Surrey, ‘Sir John, ensure the men are at their posts and alert, and remember, no quarter!’

  Sir John nodded and with one quick glance at the bodies on the hill turned and made his way towards the stairwell. De Capo snapped orders at the men on top of the Keep to stay alert and report any further incidents immediately and rushed down the stairs to Blanche’s chambers.

  As the only Lady in the castle and as de Capo’s betrothed, Blanche and her maid Evelyn had been given the Archbishops quarters that took half of the third floor. It had been given over to unusual opulence and was normally reserved for the Archbishop of Canterbury when he visited. Secured with a stout oak door the chambers within were separated by wooden screens and huge hanging tapestries. Apart from the Kings Hall the bedroom had the only feather filled mattress in the city, a private garderobe, dining area with table, chairs with soft cushions designed to protect the holy buttocks and a small partitioned area with a bed for a maid or servant.

  De Capo shared Blanche’s bed and had done so for several months. They were for all intents and purposes married; all they needed was the legal ceremony. Even prior to the news of the baby de Capo had promised once the siege was over he would arrange for the wedding to be held in the Cathedral, followed by a huge feast; a feast to not only celebrate their union but also their victory.

  He had approached Sir Roger and Sir John and they had been enthusiastic at the idea, the Bishop less so when he realised the church would not be paid for the honour. De Capo was adamant after what he had done in the name of the church, the church could do something for him; and under pressure from Sir Roger, the Bishop reluctantly agreed to the idea. Once they were married he would tell Blanche the truth about Erasmus and the scroll. But that time was in the future and what mattered now was their survival against greater odds.

  De Capo entered the Archbishop’s chambers and indicated to Evelyn to leave them. Blanche stood staring out of the window as he approached and placing his hands on her shoulders he spoke softly, ‘Blanche.’

  She turned and looked up at de Capo with glistening eyes, ‘Those men, was it necessary for them to die like that?’

  ‘War is cruel and good men die, how they die can be bad, but what they die for shows their true measure.’

  Blanche touched de Capo on his sword arm, ‘And what would you die for?’

  ‘I would die for you,’ claimed de Capo, ‘I would always die for you and you know that.’

  ‘I don’t want you to die Ralf; I don’t want anyone to die; why are men so cruel to each other?’

  ‘Only God can answer that.’

  ‘God!’ Blanche was dismissive and she pressed herself against de Capo’s chest, ‘I don’t care about God, I care about you and our child.’

  De Capo squeezed her tight and closed his eyes savouring her smell, ‘These walls are thick and the only way to get into this Keep is by mining the towers. By the time they try that the King will be here. I will be safe and so will you. When it starts you will remain here, you and Evelyn, I need you and the baby safe.’

  ‘And when we are married you will tell me all your secrets.’

  ‘I will,’ said de Capo as he thought about the horror he had seen and committed in the name of God, some horrors he would never tell her despite his promise.

  ‘Very well,’ said Blanche, her eyes still moist from the terror she had just witnessed, ‘I shall hold you to that Sir Ralf de Capo, no secrets.’

  De Capo embraced her a little harder, ‘You hav
e my promise.’

  Chapter Ten

  Five miles to the northwest of Rochester the horse struggled to make progress through a rain sodden meadow. The mud clung to its hooves splattering its legs and soaking its belly. For two miles it had been ridden hard through the woods as it tried to outrun its pursuers. Misty vapour erupted from its nostrils as it tried in vain to fill its lungs and lift its legs that sunk deeper into the squelching mud. The horse would burst its heart before it gave up and the rider glanced behind him and cursed the bad decision he had made. He should have kept to the trees but the sight of the meadow in the middle of the forest looked too good an opportunity to miss. It looked firm and for the first few steps it was. He pulled at the reins and leant forward stroking the horse’s neck, ‘Steady girl, steady.’

  He was lucky the horse hadn’t broken a leg as it ploughed into the boggy morass. She slowed to a walk and lifted her legs high enough to make minimal progress and the only saving grace was the enemy wouldn’t follow, but all they had to do was wait in the tree line until she eventually reached solid land again.

  The rider heard his pursuers before he saw them and continuing to stroke the horse’s neck spoke softly to her, there was no point driving this loyal beast to exhaustion when it was now evident he couldn’t escape. He sat tall, loosened his blade and scanned the tree line for the enemy, maybe he could take one of them with him at least. The horse struggled to lift another leg and he gave a small tug on the reins, ‘Whoa.....still girl.... stay still.’

  The horse stood in the mud with head bowed taking deep breaths that caused gentle snorts as she slowly recovered, steam rising from her body as it started to cool. The rider removed his gauntlet and wiped his mouth, looking round for his pursuers. He heard a horse snuffle and four horsemen rode slowly through the tree line to his right. Their horses too had suffered from the chase and were breathing heavily. As they weaved between the trees in single file they kept looking in his direction, and once they were adjacent they stopped in a line abreast and watched him with impassive expressions, knowing he was trapped.