The arrival of the Earl’s army had caused a flurry of activity from the men on the far bank and a group had raced across to man the barricade closest to the west bank, a barricade which would soon be removed by his siege engineers.
The view across the river was clear and he watched as the trebuchets flung their rocks at the Keep. The sound of each strike travelled across the water, a dull thud which could be felt through the ground even at this distance. Despite the pounding the Keep stood firm and there appeared to be little damage caused. It seemed the castle of Rochester continued to live up to its reputation.
To his right he saw the boat Richard had spoken of and de Montfort felt a small glow of satisfaction realising he had the correct measure of the man, he might be scared but he was honest and truthful. The boat had been dragged further onto the bank out of arrow range and guarded by half a dozen of his men. A plan started to form in his head he realised the boat might well be his key to victory. He turned to Jaxon who as ever sat beside him straight faced waiting for instructions; ‘Once the barricade is cleared and the archers are gone I want the ditch filled in.’
Jaxon and the knights with him nodded. Jaxon had earlier checked the ditch hidden behind the bank of earth and it formed a semi-circle from muddy shoreline to muddy shoreline and was filled with stakes. All of them clearly covered in human excrement, ‘I think they were expecting us at night, the ditch would have caused us a problem, but not now.’
Fabien le Breton sat to the right of Jaxon and continued to stare in awe at the castle his countrymen had built two hundred years ago, a castle that had become such a crucial factor in a war that set friend against friend, and once loyal subjects against their King. A mighty bastion of Norman French ingenuity. A symbol of their authority and superiority over the Saxons whom they had conquered and subjugated with total ruthlessness. Two hundred years where the two races had become one; English! And now they fought each other!
De Montfort turned to Richard who sat unarmed but heavily guarded beside him, ‘You say Sir Gilbert Beauchamp commands the bridge house?’
Richard stared across the river and watched the smoke rise above the city, ‘Aye, a good man.’
‘And he is responsible for these defences?’
‘He is my Lord,’ Richard wondered where this was going, he knew from the previous conversations this was the Earls way of obtaining information, asking obvious questions he already knew the answer to and somehow without actually asking always managing to get the answer to the question that had hitherto evaded him. ‘He enlisted the help of the people in the city.’
‘Enlisted?’ Jaxon remarked, still watching the men on the bridge.
De Montfort glanced at Jaxon and turned back to Richard with eyebrows raised questioningly, ‘Well?’
Richard shrugged, ‘Persuaded would be a better word.’
‘Ah, persuaded!’ The Earl smiled, ‘And yet,’ he continued, ‘with all that manpower he chose to put archers on the bridge and not behind the stakes where he could have hurt my men with volleys.’
Another rock hit the Keep as De Montfort stared back across the water, ‘Not enough archers.’
‘Enough to guard the bridge,’ Jaxon turned and looked at his commander.
‘True,’ said de Montfort, ‘but not enough to protect the bridge from this side.’ He looked back at Richard who sat with his head slumped forward as he realised his captor was digging for information on the numbers facing him, ‘Archers aplenty you said, maybe not as many as you thought, eh?’ De Montfort grinned and glanced down at the mangonels and saw the engineers loading the rocks, ‘I trust you remember you’re still under oath not to escape?’
Richard squinted as he tried to make out the men on the Gate House and fancied he could see Gilbert standing near the flag, ‘Aye my Lord, I remember.’ He tried not to look at the man next to him as he was in awe of Simon de Montfort. He had learnt in the short time he had been in his company that he was a fine and respected commander and leader of men, unlike his ally Gilbert de Clare who had the reputation of ruthlessness and brutality. Some would say they were more desirable qualities in these times but he knew who he would rather fight for. He was starting to feel like a traitor although he had done and said nothing that could influence the outcome of the battle.
De Montfort looked across to the man in charge of the mangonels; the bridge house was at the limit of their range. Regardless of the skill of the siege engineer, de Montfort was concerned about damage to the bridge from any rebounds. A skilful man would be able to demolish the nearest barricade without damage to the bridge, without having to risk any of his men and de Montfort believed he had a skilful man. He nodded and the man smiled, gave a small bow and turned and shouted orders to his men operating the siege engines.
Although the mangonel was smaller and more portable than the trebuchet that could fling heavier rocks, its range was longer but less accurate. Men argued and would continue to do so for a long time about the effectiveness and usefulness of both siege weapons, but in the end the effect was usually the same.
As with the trebuchets there were wicker shields in front of the mangonels protecting the men operating them from any arrows. The mangonel commander paced back and forth behind them both and made calculations in his head, constantly visually checking the amount of tension in the twisted rope and animal gut. This acted as the spring torsion for the arm that had been pulled back and sat waiting to be released to hurl the rock sitting in the bucket at its end.
With a final glance back at de Montfort who gave another slight nod, the mangonel commander turned to face the bridge and shouted the order to release the first rock. The retaining pins were knocked out of the lock holding the rope which strained to hold back the arm of the first mangonel which snapped forward and struck the cross piece flinging the rock at a low trajectory, but high speed towards the barricade. The men behind the obstruction crouched down low as the rock flew through the air missing them by inches. It overshot and smashed through the wooden railings behind them before plunging with a mighty splash into the river.
The mangonel commander cursed but refrained from looking at de Montfort who specifically told him not to damage the bridge. He stormed over to the second mangonel and ordered the torsion to be adjusted. After several minutes, during which time de Montfort sat with a scowl on his face, the man was satisfied with the changes and without checking with the Earl gave the order for the second rock to be hurled. The arm was released and like its predecessor sprang forward and released its missile as it struck the cross piece. The trajectory was slightly lower but the accuracy was almost perfect as it struck one end of the barricade partially demolishing it and crushing the legs of one of the defenders. The screams of the injured man pierced the ears of his assailants and although he was the enemy, no man laughed!
The mangonel commander shouted orders and paced restlessly, watching his men prepare for a second strike. The arms were pulled back and the buckets loaded once the correct torsion was applied. Urgent shouting and frantic movement from the opposite bank caught de Montfort’s eye and he watched with a blank expression as the men from the barricade retreated towards the bridge gate house carelessly dragging their injured comrade with them.
The mangonel commander looked back at de Montfort who gave another small nod and the order was given to release the third stone which flew through the air and struck the centre and demolished what was left of the obstruction. It continued in a swathe and destroyed another section of the railing before disappearing into the water to join the first stone.
De Montfort groaned, ‘That’s enough; tell him to stop before he destroys the entire bridge.’
‘Aye,’ said Jaxon allowing himself a small grin as he trotted over to the mangonels.
De Montfort turned to one of the knights in his retinue, ‘Get the ditch filled in and get those stakes removed.’
As the knight rode away, De Montfort waited while Jaxon spoke to the mangonel commander who nodded and
looked over at the Earl. By the time he returned to de Montfort dozens of his men were making their way towards the earth bank to start filling in what had taken so many men to create in a short time. Richard watched with a measure of respect only a man of war could understand. These men were disciplined and well-armed and their leader was a man of unusual intelligence and experience, as well as having a personality that exuded honour and drew men towards him. His men were obviously prepared to fight for him and not just his cause. He was still the Kings man, ‘but’ he thought, ‘what a country this could be if this man were King,’ Richard looked at the man in profile, firm set jaw, a nose slightly too long for his face, the French blood in him showing through and the clear bright eyes that seemed to be always looking and evaluating, ‘maybe I am a traitor,’ he wondered.
His thoughts were distracted as the commander of the mangonels approached de Montfort and stood silently waiting to be acknowledged.
‘Well William, you promised no damage to the bridge!’
William looked embarrassed and glanced back at the damage as he replied, ‘Well my Lord, I didn’t really think the sides were part of the bridge. He gave a wry smile as Jaxon coughed.
De Montfort raised his eyebrows at the flippancy, ‘Dismantle your engines William.’ He looked at the men on the battlements across the river and glowered at the second barricade bristling with men holding pikes and spears, ‘We’ll take the bridge the hard way.’
William nodded and jogged back to the mangonels to start the laborious task of dismantling and loading back onto their wagons.
Within an hour, the ditch had been filled in and the barricades behind removed. A volley of arrows had flown across the river but most never made it to the far bank, wasted shafts landing harmlessly in the mud at the edge of the water; no more volleys followed. With the bridge clear and no archers in range de Montfort’s men pulled the stakes out slowly one by one and piled them to one side while the defenders looked on helplessly; it seemed all they had achieved was to delay the inevitable.
De Montfort turned and looked at the ranks of his men standing silent. They had marched for five days in rain and wind. They were tired, he was tired, but more importantly those men in the city would be tired, and scared! He nudged his horse forwards at a walk and made his way along the ancient road as Jaxon and his retinue followed. Stopping a hundred paces from the bridge they all dismounted and his bodyguard stood nearby with shields at the ready, nervously watching for any sign of arrows or bolts.
De Montfort was pensive and he looked to his left and right. The boats used as a barricade were beyond repair and it would have been easier to build new ones but that wasn’t an option. The city and the castle needed to be taken before the King arrived, if he arrived! De Montfort still wasn’t convinced. He was winning this war and he still believed Henry would not want to risk his army here, one more defeat and he would lose his crown, ‘Did you check for boats?’
Jaxon nodded, ‘Aye my Lord, checked for a mile each way.’
‘Send them both directions until nightfall. Try and find some.’
Jaxon turned and gave an order to one of the men at arms who remounted and rode off towards the army.
De Montfort watched as two groups of horsemen cantered in opposite directions, ‘Beauchamp isn’t stupid, he knew those defences would only delay us for a short time!’
‘Maybe he was desperate,’ replied Jaxon, ‘or maybe he thought we were a bunch of ill-disciplined rogues and villains with a fool as a leader!’
‘No, you were right, he expected us to attack at night and that would have hurt us,’ he pointed to the city wall to the north of the Gate House and the curtain wall overlooking the bridge to the south, ‘and he has both flanks well covered with archers.’
Jaxon nodded, ‘Aye, and the bridge is narrow and easy to defend; it’s going to be bloody!’
‘Send in fifty men, said de Montfort, ‘and make sure they know to defend their heads and their flanks.’
‘Only fifty?’ Jaxon couldn’t believe his Lord would send such a small force as he surveyed the bridge and posed the question.
De Montfort stared at the bridge house and tried to make out the adversary who was once a friend of his. He nodded slightly to himself as he came to a decision, ‘Aye, fifty will do, but hold them here until we’ve spoken to Beauchamp.’
Jaxon’s face remained impassive as he slowly turned his head and stared at his commander. He had been with de Montfort long enough to appreciate he knew what he was doing; even if he didn’t always agree with him. He inclined his head once, remounted and trotted back to the waiting army.
De Montfort turned and motioned to Richard who stood closely guarded, to stand beside him. He was still waiting for the orders to either put him in chains or simply kill him; instead he was standing beside his enemy being afforded every courtesy apart from freedom, ‘You understand the sincerity of your oath?’ De Montfort asked quietly.
‘My Lord?’
‘Your oath Richard, if you break it I will hunt you down without mercy, and your death will not be easy,’ de Montfort’s gaze hadn’t wavered from the bridge house. He turned and looked into Richards eyes with a piercing stare, ‘Am I clear?’
‘Aye, but I don’t understand what......’
De Montfort held up a mailed hand to stop Richard from continuing, ‘I want you to go with Fabien and parley with Gilbert before.......’
The Earl was taken aback as Richard interrupted harshly, ‘No! I will not be a traitor, you can have my head but I will not betray my King!’
De Montfort half smiled, ‘If I wanted your head, I would have taken it. I do not want men to die needlessly, so you will speak to Gilbert and make him see sense. We will cross, we will take the city and the castle. Men will die and you can prevent that.’
‘Why me?’
‘Think on Richard, you are one of them. You have seen my army and they need to know we are not some rabble. I also know Gilbert is more likely to believe you than me.’
‘And what do I tell him?’
‘You tell him the truth,’ replied de Montfort, ‘you tell him he has my word if he surrenders there will be no sacking of the city,’ he paused and looked at the smoke, ‘what’s left of it!’
Richard stood with his jaw set firm and looked about at the men he was in the company of; his enemies, men he had sworn to kill in the service of his King. Men who would kill him at one word from the man stood in front of him and yet he still lived. It seemed for a few seconds the entire world stood silent waiting for his answer and he saw the determination in de Montfort’s eyes and knew he meant what he said. Richard nodded, ‘I’ll talk to him, but I know the man and he is unlikely to yield.’
De Montfort turned and stared back across the water at the men on the bridge house battlements, ‘I know the man as well!’ He nodded to Fabien le Breton as Jaxon returned with the fifty men.
Richard looked at the great heavy battle axes some of them carried, and imagined them smashing down into the skulls of their enemies and shuddered, glad for once he was a prisoner; he took a deep breath and nodded to the French Knight and they both stepped towards the bridge.
~
Gilbert stood with one of the garrison Knights in front of the barricade and waited as the two men approached him. Earlier while watching the city set alight he wondered at the madness of both sides. He too was more than a little astonished to see two trebuchets slowly moving towards the castle. Within minutes of the first rock striking the walls, one of his men advised him of movement on the far bank of the river and Simon de Montfort’s army appeared in the distance.
As the armies approached, the bells of the Cathedral rang creating a clamour that reverberated across the city making the air tremble and invoking a panic in the hurried rush of the women and children, the old and infirm who had refused to leave their homes until the last moment. Mothers ran with their children, and relatives of the aged and sick dragged them towards the Cathedral to take refuge, beli
eving in the sanctity of their house of God as a place that would never be violated by Christian men, whether for or against the King.
The archers on top of the Keep who raised the alarm looked in both directions as the two armies converged upon Rochester. Within minutes the walls of the city were lined with the inflated garrison boosted by men from the city. The mood across the castle and the City as a whole was sombre as each man stood at the wall with his own thoughts. Blades had been sharpened, mail and plate checked, adjusted and checked again. Men looked at each other, some were strangers to one another but each man knew he had to trust and depend on the man next to him regardless.
From the top of the bridge house Gilbert’s view across the river encompassed the old Roman road threading its way towards the west. It was a straight line cutting across the sparsely grassed flat lands on the opposite bank climbing the first of the hills between Rochester and London. Now his view included an army that had arrived to kill and destroy. He’d watched as those men assembled mangonels, cursing under his breath as he watched his defences destroyed and dismantled. His archers had let loose a volley as the enemy started to pull out the stakes but the easterly wind made the barbed missiles fall short.
The man crushed by the first stone had died shortly after he reached the surgeon. Gilbert didn’t know him but every death of men under his command angered him. He turned his attention to the two men now standing ten paces away, close enough to talk but far enough to react if a blade was rashly pulled. Gilbert’s eyes narrowed to slits as he recognised Richard, ‘Joined the rebels Richard?’
Richard shook his head, ‘No, Sir Gilbert, I was captured this morning.’
‘Yet you still live,’ said Gilbert Scornfully, ‘and you stand before me as a messenger for the rebels, a traitor!’
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