Deus Militis - Soldiers of God

by Jonathan A Longmore

  Sir Roger removed his helmet and replied, ‘Aye, Humfrey, I see you. What do you want?’

  ‘Sir Roger,’ Humfrey knew if the Sheriff of Kent still lived there was always a chance to stop the bloodshed, ‘I’m glad to see you still live.’

  FitzAlan spat over the wall and the glob of spittle landed on the ground in front of Humfrey, ‘Is that what you’ve come here for, to see if we still live?’

  Sir Roger glanced at the men beside him and raised his eyebrows, ‘And now you have met Sir John FitzAlan, Earl of Arundel.’

  Humfrey’s horse started to fidget as the smell of the blood seeping into the ground spooked him. He paused to get the horse under control before continuing, ‘I’m obliged my Lord,’ he said as his horse calmed down, he looked up again and his eyes met those of the Kings nephew,

  ‘Sir Henry.’

  ‘Have we met?’

  ‘We haven’t, but I recognise your standard…..you are the one who sallied out?’

  Henry smiled and nodded as Humfrey continued, ‘A brave move.’

  ‘Aye,’ replied Henry, ‘it could have been a damn stupid one.’

  Humfrey stared at de Capo, ‘The crest gives you away Sir Ralf.’

  De Capo looked over Humfrey’s head towards the group of riders sitting in front of the standard, ‘I want that murdering bastard to see me!’

  Humfrey twisted in his saddle and looked back at de Clare before facing de Capo again,

  ‘Murdering bastard? We are at war, we are all murderers.’

  ‘No Humfrey, we are not,’ proclaimed Sir Roger, ‘We, do not impale our prisoners.’

  ‘Impale?’ Humfrey looked truly mystified, ‘You have my word Sir Roger, we do not impale anyone; we are not barbarians!’

  ‘You’re a damn liar!’ FitzAlan erupted, ‘Two of our men had stakes shoved up their arses on that hill this very morning, and your men did it!’

  Humfrey looked to his left at Boley Hill. The trebuchets stood silent and the two hundred men guarding them watched the lone rider. If the angry look on Humfrey’s face was evident to the men on the wall they made no comment.

  Humfrey looked up, ‘Whatever happened this morning was not known to Sir Gilbert or myself and the men responsible will be punished; you have my word!’

  ‘The same word you gave when you made an oath to our King?’ De Capo stared unsmiling down at Humfrey.

  ‘We’ve all broken oaths,’ Humfrey replied, ‘I’m here to make an offer.’

  ‘Make it quick,’ demanded Sir Roger, ‘the only reason you’re not dead is because I’m curious.’

  ‘Sir Gilbert will allow you all safe passage across the river if you surrender the city and the castle, no more men need to die. You can take your horses and weapons.’

  ‘And de Montfort agrees to this does he?’ FitzAlan growled, the contempt clear in his voice.

  ‘He will,’ Humfrey replied hesitatingly.

  ‘Is that it?’ Sir Roger asked, the doubt clear in his voice.

  Humfrey looked at de Capo, ‘Sir Ralf and the Lady must stay.’

  De Capo remained silent as the men beside him waited for his reaction. Before he could reply Henry spoke, ‘You’ve made your offer, now I make an offer on behalf of my Uncle, the King of England, you can tell your Lord if he surrenders and declares himself for the King he might keep his head.’

  Humfrey ignored the retort and looked at the Sheriff, ‘Sir Roger?’

  ‘You’ve had your answer, now I suggest you retreat back to your master before my men use you as a target!’

  Humfrey nodded and without another word turned his horse and picked his way back through the corpses.

  De Capo looked at FitzAlan, ‘Sir John, make sure the men we have left rest and eat if you please, half at a time. It will be a long night.’

  ‘You don’t think they’ll attack again?’

  ‘Not today, we’ve hurt de Clare, his men have bled hard and he won’t be too keen to lose any more, tomorrow will decide if we keep the city or lose it.’

  Chapter Twenty One

  Gilbert de Clare sat on his horse surrounded by his bodyguard as Humfrey slowly rode back from the city wall. The light was starting to fade and he knew another attack that day would be disastrous. De Chauvigny had appeared just before the attack faltered. When de Clare asked about the injured men he dismissed it out of hand saying they were happy to bleed for him.

  He watched as the remains of his battered army crawled back to the safety of the dead ground. Dozens were injured and many more lay dead outside the city walls. The count was being taken and he would know soon enough just how many men he had lost. Messengers stood ready to be sent to the mangonels and to Faelan at the trebuchets to restart their battering of the Keep and the east gate until it was too dark to see. They would start again at dawn unless his offer was accepted, but he didn’t expect that.

  He was surprised at the ferocity of the defenders against his men. He outnumbered them substantially but the Knights who rode out of the city made an impact on the fight, one he hadn’t anticipated. Too many men had been lost and he wasn’t prepared to risk more losses in a night attack.

  His scouts had reported the failure of de Montfort to take the bridge despite two attacks. Although it made him smile inwardly it gave him little comfort. Tomorrow would be another day and he decided he would increase the attack on the east gate by moving the mangonels on the south to join the two in the east. It was a misfortune one team of men had been slaughtered by the enemy.

  Humfrey shook his head as he neared and de Clare stared impassively at the city until his second in command stopped beside him, ‘They invited you to surrender and fight for the King.’

  ‘Did they?’ De Clare gritted his teeth in anger and stared at the city for a few seconds longer before turning to the two messengers, ‘Tell them to continue until it’s too dark to see.’

  Both messengers rode off in different directions and de Clare stared at the City again, ‘You saw the bastard?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘And?’

  Humfrey glanced over at de Chauvigny who was watching him with narrowed eyes; he spat on the ground and glanced to his left at Leopold. Humfrey shuddered and looked away quickly, he lowered his voice, ‘He is not going to give her up, and it seems Reynaud kept his promise of scaring the people!’

  ‘How?’

  ‘A private word,’ said Humfrey in a low voice. He turned his horse away and headed toward the dead ground where the remains of the army were regrouping. De Clare followed, irritated that he had to follow his lieutenant.

  Before Humfrey could continue his report a knight approached on foot, ‘My Lord, I have the count.’ The knight looked sheepish; passing on bad news was never pleasant when the recipient was Gilbert de Clare.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘One hundred and fourteen men have returned with wounds, thirty one might die,’ he paused and took a deep breath before continuing, ‘two hundred and twelve are missing.’

  Humfrey was appalled, ‘Over three hundred men!’

  De Clare looked towards the city and down at the uncomfortable looking knight, ‘Well Sir Myles, we’ll let the mangonels do the work, let the men know the next attack will be through the gates tomorrow morning.’

  Looking visibly relieved, Myles nodded and walked back towards the soldiers.

  De Clare looked back at de Chauvigny, ‘What’s the bastard done?’

  ‘He’s impaled two royalist prisoners, this morning, on the hill.’

  De Clare turned back slowly and glared at Humfrey, ‘He did what?’

  ‘He spiked two of their men on the hill, in front of them.’

  De Clare wanted to scream but kept his voice low and even, ‘Are you sure it was him?’

  ‘Who else would have done it, would you have given that order?’ Humfrey asked, ‘because I wouldn’t!’

  De Clare yanked his reins to the left, his horse protested with a shake of her head before complying. He kicked her into
a trot and headed towards de Chauvigny. Humfrey and the bodyguard followed in a hasty panic, caught out by the sudden movement of their leader.

  De Chauvigny was staring at the city as de Clare approached him and gave no acknowledgment of his presence, ‘Humfrey!’

  Humfrey stopped in front of both men with his back to the city, ‘My Lord?’

  ‘Tell him what you told me.’

  Humfrey took a deep breath and spoke matter of factly to the Frenchman, ‘Sir Roger de Leybourne said you impaled prisoners on the hill.’

  De Chauvigny continued staring at the city, ‘Aye, what of it?’

  ‘What of it!’ Decried de Clare, ‘What of it!’ The Earl was almost apoplectic; ‘I told you there were rules…..Rules! Did you mishear me?’

  De Chauvigny sighed, obviously annoyed that he was now required to explain himself, ‘We agreed a plan, a plan you approved.’

  De Clare’s face contorted as he screamed at de Chauvigny, ‘I did not approve that!’

  ‘It’s done,’ de Chauvigny said sharply as he finally looked at the Earl, ‘and because those people were scared, they allowed my man in without question, the last thing they wanted to see was another of their people die like the first two.’ He continued staring at the city.

  De Clare looked at Humfrey and tried to control the angry tremor in his voice, ‘And what do you say on the matter?’

  Humfrey took his time and looked from de Chauvigny to the city and back again then shrugged, ‘He might be right.’

  De Clare’s face started to relax. He trusted Humfrey more than any other man and if he was starting to agree with de Chauvigny then it was wise to accept that as good counsel. He moved his horse closer to the French knight, ‘You say your man is in the city?’

  ‘He is,’ replied de Chauvigny, ‘it’s always good to have an advantage.’

  ‘Very well,’ de Clare grabbed his reins, ‘but no more spiking, do you hear me, no more spiking!’

  De Chauvigny watched contemptuously as de Clare and Humfrey trotted away towards the bruised and battered army and stared at the priest who went from man to man giving the last rites.

  ~

  The men on the battlements watched the enemy lick their wounds, and as the light continued to fade an eerie silence covered the battlefield as the wailing and crying of the injured men ceased.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  On both sides of the river the rebel armies were resting, pickets were out and fires lit. There was no celebration though and both armies prepared for the next day. Wounded men were being treated by the surgeons and for every one who lived another died. Weapons were being sharpened and men sat in small groups talking and eating. Tents for the knights and Barons had been erected and the smell of roasting pork wafted through the air on the breeze.

  Spring was late, winter had started early the year before and a great storm which had swept across England and the northern countries had lengthened the cold season. The trebuchets and the mangonels continued their work, pounding the Keep and the east gate at regular intervals until darkness fell.

  There was a low glow from fires burning in the Keep. That massive structure couldn’t be hidden regardless of how dark it became. For the men on the walls there were no fires, no moon and nothing to show their silhouette. Half stood watch while half rested, but they rested on the battlements under blankets and cloaks. Water, cold meat, cheese and hard bread were their rations and they were cold and tired. Most couldn’t sleep and they talked in low voices to their comrades about the fighting that had been and the fighting to come.

  On the bridge the story was much the same, there had been no third attack. The bodies of the dead were been piled in front of the barricade and archers stood ready, waiting for any movement throughout the night. Many fires were burning on the opposite bank as de Montfort’s army rested and prepared for the next day. The first attacks had started mid-afternoon, and now the fighting had ceased the time was dragging.

  Ranulf stood silently in the Kings Hall as Sir Roger entered with de Capo and Sir John de Warenne; Henry, Gilbert and Sir Geoffrey Marston were already present and FitzAlan had offered to stay on the wall in case of another attack.

  ‘I’m glad to see you’re all alive and well,’ said Sir Roger, ‘our losses have been high.’ He looked at Gilbert, ‘How are your men faring?’

  ‘We’ve only lost one man and those bastards paid dearly for it!’

  ‘Good,’ replied Sir Roger, ‘a lot of men have died today, and we have no reserves. It’s fortunate de Clare chose not to attack the castle, we only had a few men on the curtain walls.’

  ‘He was trying to stretch our men,’ explained de Capo, ‘I would have done the same. Make us defend a long wall and the castle, but even he didn’t have enough men to attack both. I suspect he was expecting de Montfort to take the bridge by now, if he had, the city would have fallen.’

  ‘How much longer can we hold the city?’

  De Capo looked at Henry wearily, ‘We can’t,’ he sighed, ‘our losses are too high to beat back another assault like the last one. De Clare continues to batter the east gate and if it falls we will have to retreat back to the castle.’ He looked at Gilbert, ‘Likewise if the bridge falls first, or if you think it’s going to fall you tell us and we will abandon the city.’

  ‘And if the city falls before the bridge?’

  De Capo took a breath and closed his eyes for a second before he spoke, ‘If that happens you must give up the bridge and get your men back into the castle fast.’ He looked around at the knights, ‘We all know we cannot hold one without the other.’

  The scream of a mortally wounded man in the Keep reached everyone’s ears, and they all fell silent for a few seconds before de Capo continued, ‘Ensure your men are fed and rested as best they can, be ready to retreat to the castle. Ranulf will keep archers ready to cover us. This is a critical time for us. We must hold until the King arrives.’

  Sir Roger watched as the men around the table glanced sceptically at each other, ‘Have faith,’ said Sir Roger as he saw the looks passed between them, the King will come.’

  ‘Talking of the King,’ said de Capo, ‘if we have to retreat into the castle this hall will be fired.’

  Sir Roger looked up sharply, ‘The Kings Hall?’

  ‘Aye, Sir Roger, unless you would like de Montfort to sit in it!’

  ‘Agreed,’ he said reluctantly, ‘it can be rebuilt.’

  De Capo looked at the Earl of Surrey, ‘I would like you to make sure it’s done.’

  ‘I’ll make the preparations tonight.’

  ‘What happened to the scout?’ De Capo said to no one in particular.

  For the first time, Ranulf spoke, ‘I sent him to the surgeon at the bridge just before de Clare arrived; I’ve not seen him since.’

  ‘No matter,’ said de Capo, ‘he cannot tell us anything we don’t now know.’

  Like everyone else who had been on the south wall, de Capo was splattered with blood, he looked at the men in the room and gave a cynical smile, ‘Enjoy the peace while it lasts, and make sure your men are ready and alert before dawn….Ranulf, I need to speak to you about the Keep.’

  Once they were alone de Capo spoke quickly, ‘You know Erasmus?’

  ‘The priest?’

  De Capo nodded.

  ‘I’ve met him briefly, says he is travelling with you.’

  ‘He was,’ de Capo admitted, ‘but circumstances change, and I am offering you a task which could help you remain in England, with Evelyn!’

  Ranulf smiled, ‘I’m listening.’

  ~

  ‘You have broken your oath,’ snapped Erasmus, ‘you gave me your word and now De Chauvigny is here you decide you cannot take me north?’

  ‘Ranulf is a good man,’ countered de Capo, ‘he hates priests as much as I do, and you once told me men who hated priests were men you could trust.’

  Erasmus rubbed his head hard with both hands as he tried to make sense of what he wa
s being told. He turned away from de Capo and immediately spun round to face him again pointing at Ranulf who stood quietly to one side, ‘He was not chosen by God…..you were!’

  ‘And maybe God has chosen another,’ de Capo retorted.

  ‘God chose you!’

  ‘I think you chose me,’ de Capo said, ‘this is nothing to do with God, you’re a priest and you make things up as it pleases you.’

  Erasmus was appalled and wasn’t scared to show it, ‘Have you learnt and understood nothing about me. Ever since we arrived at Lewes you have acted differently….,’ he stopped and his expression changed to one of understanding, ‘Blanche, I understand now, but she is not a good enough reason to break your oath.’

  ‘She is with child,’ said de Capo, ‘and I will not leave her.’

  Erasmus nodded and calmed himself, ‘I will pray for her, but do not press God Sir Ralf, he has chosen you and you would do well not to anger him!’ He turned and left the chapel leaving de Capo and Ranulf wondering at the vehemence in his words.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  The fishermen were relaxed, laughing and joking amongst one another as mackerel and eels were slow cooked over the fire. Ale would have been good but they had left Rochester in a hurry, keen to get their boats away from the madness of the siege. They weren’t interested in the politics of the King and the Barons, but they were concerned about how to make a living and feed their families. Unfortunately the families had been left behind but the men were confident the siege would be lifted before any harm came to them. It was a common belief the King would rescue Rochester. It was one of the jewels in his crown and an important stronghold for the whole of the south east of England.

  Before they reached the estuary they moored in a small creek on the west of the river where two families of bargemen lived. The bargemen greeted them with suspicion initially, but that soon turned to a grudging acceptance when the fishermen offered some of their catch. The bargemen accepted the gift in return for a nights mooring providing they stayed on the opposite side of the inlet to the bargemen’s cottages. They had wives and daughters and they did not want the fishermen too close. To that end they refused to supply any ale. They certainly didn’t want any drunken fishermen near their women.

  The light was fading when one of the fishermen looked up, ‘Shhhh….quiet!’