The laughter and talking stopped abruptly and they looked at their friend. He turned his head and strained his ears, ‘Did you hear that?’
Slowly they all looked behind them to see six heavily armed men, covered from head to foot in mail and wearing nasal helmets. They stood in line, swords drawn, eyes focused on the fishermen.
‘Take them!’
The soldiers moved forward at the gruff order and encircled the fishermen who stood glancing about nervously, moving together as the men in mail closed in.
‘Where are you from?’ The soldier asking the question stepped forward from the circle and holding his sword at his side looked at the fishermen. No one answered and his eyes narrowed as he looked past them at the fishing boats that had been dragged up onto the mud. He walked up to one man and smiled at him before plunging his sword into his stomach, the blade exited his back and the man sighed and grunted as his legs collapsed. The soldier let the mortally wounded man fall to the floor before using his foot to hold the body down as he pulled the blade free. The fishermen stared wide eyed at their friend who lay on the ground bleeding to death, gasping for breath.
‘I’ll ask again,’ said the soldier as blood dripped from his sword, ‘where are you from?’
As one they fell to their knees and started to jabber incoherently. The death of one man had the desired effect.
Within minutes the soldier had the story and turned to one of his men, ‘Get back to the Earl…..tell him we have found his boats.’
Chapter Twenty Four
It was a peaceful night but the threat of another attack was always imminent. The people in the cathedral prayed throughout the night and the fighting men closed their eyes on the wall, in the Keep and on the bridge when they could. The enemy camps were quiet and if there had been enough men to risk a night time sortie de Capo would have led them out and slaughtered the rebels as they slept. The portcullis on the east gate had resisted the hammering and joined the Keep in remaining firm and solid. The men on the bridge house watched over their charge carefully, always expecting a sudden rush across the bridge from de Montfort’s men. Such an attack though might be costly for both sides and attacking across a wooden bridge in mail would never be a silent affair.
Dawn was slowly approaching and Ranulf stood on top of the Keep wrapped in a cloak, trying to keep out the chill and failing. The wind had eased off and although there was a cold breeze there was no need to shout to be heard. The sky was still full of cloud although occasionally a crack appeared and the sparkle of a star appeared before it covered over again.
The darkness was gradually being replaced by the early morning murkiness of a day that didn’t want to be born. Fires still burnt in the enemy camps and he could see the ones being stoked as they flared in the disappearing darkness. He turned his head towards Boley Hill and could almost feel eyes staring at him across the void. He shook his head and tried to brush away the thoughts. He had other matters to deal with and foremost was the defence of the Keep.
Like a good leader he had set two hour watches throughout the night and had taken the first and last himself. His men had been able to rest but as the darkness receded they all stood on the Keep, cloaks wrapped about them waiting for an early attack. He looked across the river and saw men moving about, men on foot and on horses, there seemed to be no urgency about them. He turned and walked around the battlement to the east side and looked to the south east at de Clare’s army. Men wandered about getting ready for the day and horses were being fed but there was still nothing to indicate they were getting ready to attack. Movement from behind made him turn and he was joined by de Capo,
‘It’s a complicated affair, Ranulf.’
‘Aye, I’ve been thinking about what you said, still doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. I thought I was fighting for the King of England, now it appears I’m not!’
‘You’re still fighting for the King, as am I.’ De Capo looked around to make sure no one else was within earshot, ‘I didn’t return to England to fight for the King, but I’ve been dragged into this fight out of duty to the crown, this other matter has become intertwined with the war. The protection of this castle has become my priority and once we have dealt with those bastards out there, with your help I can deal with my real reason for being here.’
‘What about de Chauvigny? You think he is here for you?’
De Capo looked at the hill, the spot where the stakes had been dug in were still visible and some dark patches on the ground, still evidence of the blood, ‘Apart from this scroll I can think of no other reason.’ He changed the subject as he stared over the wall at de Clare’s army, ‘What about them, any movement?’
‘Nothing.’
‘We bloodied them hard,’ de Capo said, ‘they will attack again but maybe not in such a reckless way.’
Ranulf looked at the de Capo, he looked tired and his eyes were red from the strain of staying awake, ‘You’ve not slept!’
‘No,’ de Capo forced a smile, ‘such are the joys of a siege and other matters.’
‘You should rest, you’ll be no good exhausted as you are, they aren’t going to attack anytime soon and if there is any movement or if anything else happens I’ll wake you myself.’
De Capo yawned and nodded slightly, ‘Aye, you’re right, I’ll rest in Blanche’s chambers, will you inform Sir Roger.’
‘I will.’ Ranulf watched as de Capo walked wearily away and entered the Keep. He looked around at both armies and wondered why they didn’t attack.
~
By mid-morning there had still been no attack and although there had been a lot of movement from both camps it was mainly men moving from one place to another. The soldiers on Boley Hill had been replaced and the trebuchets and mangonels had resumed their bombardment, but it was more sporadic. The people in the cathedral had ventured out and started to help prepare for the next attack. The cooks had returned to the castle and the men on the walls were resting and eating eat hot food prepared in the inner bailey.
FitzAlan had the stamina of a hundred men and constantly walked the city walls talking to the men and keeping an ever watchful eye on the rebels. The other commanders had all taken turns to rest but he seemed to scorn rest as much as he did the arrows and bolts which continuously missed him.
Sir John de Warenne replaced Ranulf on top of the Keep and paced around the battlements as he tried to keep warm. The men in the towers were replaced every hour as the wind chill that high up cut through their cloaks like a scythe through corn, but there had been no rain since Henry and his men arrived, but no sun either and the ground was still wet and soggy underfoot.
The defenders waited.
Chapter Twenty Five
The morning found Jaxon and twenty men at the creek looking at four fishing boats, two barges and the men to sail them. De Montfort had given his instructions and two smiths and an engineer had ridden with Jaxon to complete them. The bargemen were distraught when they learned what was going to happen to the vessels that were their livelihoods, but together with the fishermen they were persuaded that helping the Earl of Leicester was a wise thing to do.
After being told of the boats Simon de Montfort met de Clare. He had been rowed across the river in the boat Richard of High Farley had told him about. The Earl of Leicester, leader of the Barons rebellion and six men in a small boat crossing the river Medway in the dark! De Montfort knew he was taking a chance but it was a chance he needed to take if he was to win the City the next day. Because of the darkness and the low cloud the men on the castle walls had seen nothing and the trip took place in complete secret. De Clare was taken aback when the entrance to his tent was yanked open and Simon de Montfort strode in with his bodyguard. He hadn’t been forewarned and he made a mental note someone would be punished for that error.
A council of war took place and de Montfort made sure everyone there knew exactly who was in charge. He gave a cursory nod to de Chauvigny after de Clare introduced him but apart from that failed to
acknowledge him. It had gone midnight before de Montfort decided to draw the meeting to a close, ‘‘So, we are agreed,’ said de Montfort.
‘Aye,’ said de Clare as the other men all nodded and murmured their assent.
‘Good,’ de Montfort raised his beaker and drained the last of his wine, ‘I bid you goodnight,’ he looked at the knights who all glanced at de Clare. He sat straight faced knowing they had all been dismissed from his tent by a guest. Protocol had not been observed but no one was going to say anything to the Earl of Leicester, not even de Clare. De Chauvigny knew he had been snubbed and he stood and stormed out first. Humfrey held back until de Montfort simply looked at him with a smile that didn’t waver. Realising he had also been arbitrarily dismissed he gave a small bow to both Earls and left.
‘Blanche?’ De Montfort said after Humfrey had gone.
De Clare stiffened, ‘What about her?’
‘When the castle falls you will reacquaint yourself with her?’
‘I will,’ replied de Clare warily.
‘I will have no objection,’ said de Montfort, subtly implying his permission was needed, his eyes widened as he continued ‘And de Capo?’
‘What about him?’
‘Come on Gilbert,’ de Clare smiled, ‘the entire country knows what happened at Lewes, people talk, and you want revenge.’
‘I didn’t know you knew about Blanche being here, nor de Capo.’
‘I have good spies,’ said de Montfort, ‘better than yours I think.’
‘I promised him to de Chauvigny,’ explained de Clare, ‘They have a history and the Frenchman seeks revenge. I cannot have an upstart knight force me to my knees with a blade against my throat and think he can live to regale that story whenever he wants to!’
De Montfort raised an eyebrow and gave a half smile, ‘From what I heard Gilbert, he had every cause and right to kill you, but did not.’
‘I don’t know what you heard……’
‘What I heard,’ interrupted de Montfort sharply, ‘is you drew your sword on the Lady and threatened to kill her, in front of Sir John de Warenne! I would have killed you.’ De Montfort glared at him as if daring him to deny it and smiled again, ‘As I said Gilbert, maybe my spies are better than yours,’ he stopped smiling, ‘but anything that could affect the outcome of this campaign is always my business, now tell me about de Chauvigny.’
~
Jaxon sent word back to de Montfort that the boats would be ready on time, but the preparation had to be done in the creek and away from the eyes of the garrison. Surprise was the key this time.
Once he had risen and eaten de Montfort walked to the river and along the bank to the south accompanied by his bodyguard. The men on the walls watched and he knew they were wondering why he hadn’t attacked. He stopped and stared at Boley Hill, he had heard about the impaling and had let de Clare know his displeasure.
His army gave the impression to anyone looking in from the outside they were resting. In fact they were preparing for the next attack. Weapons were being sharpened and orders being explained. The fires were kept going and several pigs had been slaughtered and were being slow cooked on spits. Scouts had been sent out on horseback and were replaced at regular intervals. If the King arrived he wanted to know in plenty of time. He made his way back to the camp and wandered around the fires talking to his men, and waited for Jaxon’s message that the time had come.
Richard of High Farley had been placed under close guard. De Montfort could have had him killed, but there was something about the young man he liked and admired. He had spent some time talking to the royalist and although he had as much information as he was likely to get from him he enjoyed his company.
It seemed his prayers had been answered. The rain held off for another day and the wind blew gently to the east. Throughout the day groups of men wandered off to the north. To the casual observer they were men just walking around. Men came and went as did men on horseback. The careful observer would have noted more men left than came back. He ordered his men to eat early and prepare to move onto the bridge at short notice and he continued to wait as the afternoon headed towards evening.
He was staring at the bridge house when a man at arms trotted into the camp and made his way towards the Earl. The man dismounted and approached de Montfort, ‘Well?’
‘Sir Jaxon is ready my Lord, he awaits the order.’
De Montfort nodded, ‘Tell him to attack.’
The man remounted and trotted back the way he had come as de Montfort continued to stare at the city while Albin checked his armour and weapons. He buckled the sword belt around his middle and stepped back as his groom approached with his horse. De Montfort mounted and waited, and for the first time that day he smiled as eventually he saw the thick black smoke rising high into the sky. He waved at one of his knights who turned his horse and cantered to the south before turning towards the river and raising his sword to the man on the opposite bank.
De Montfort spoke to his Barons who had approached him on foot, ‘We take this bridge today.’
The Barons all nodded and orders were shouted at their men who started to form up.
Noise from the opposite bank caught his attention and he saw men were starting to point and shout at each other as the boats came into view.
~
Gilbert jerked harshly as he was shaken awake. He hadn’t meant to sleep but exhaustion had overcome him. He wasn’t getting any younger and he knew it. He looked bleary eyed at the knight who had woken him, ‘John?’
‘The bastards have got boats, they’re on their way!’
Gilbert looked at John and grunted as he pulled himself upright, his back was stiff and his left arm continued to ache. Picking up his helmet and shield he followed John down the stairs. The overwhelming smell of pig fat hit him before he left the gate house. As he exited and walked out onto the bridge thick black smoke was spreading towards the city. The opposite bank was almost out of view.
He joined his men behind the barricade and stared at the sight before him. Staring through the smoke he could just make out a barge with iron braziers hanging over the edges spewing out the acrid muck, he spun round and screamed at the men on the bridge and on the bridge house, ‘TO YOUR FRONTS, STAND READY, TO YOUR FRONTS!’ He slammed his helmet on his head and drew his sword as he cursed under his breath. Something else was happening and he ran to the side of the bridge and looked over. As he strained his eyes he saw them, bulging shapes drifting slowly in the water towards the city with the unmistakeable shapes of armed men, ‘ENEMY IN THE BOATS!’ He shouted, ‘WATCH YOUR FLANKS!’
The wind was blowing towards them and the smoke enveloped the barricade. His men started coughing as the thick acrid cloud made their eyes water and clogged their lungs. They backed away as the smoke became thicker and slowly enveloped everything around them. He knew the men in the boats would be flanking him from the water. A man backed into him and he turned and they stared at each other through stinging eyes. Men continued to cough and started to call to each other, ‘QUIET!’ Gilbert yelled.
His men fell silent and tried to suppress their coughing and Gilbert knelt and listened hard. He placed a hand on the bridge and felt a small vibration that started to increase. He had to give up the bridge. He cursed and backed away, ‘Get back to the gate house…NOW!’
A noise sounding like thunder filled the air and Gilbert looked back at the enemy as his men all hurried through the gate. The Ram had punched through the barricade and men rushed through screaming and yelling. Gilbert stood facing the screaming horde before he stepped backwards into the gate house and the portcullis fell in front of his face.
The gates were slammed shut and the men inside looked at each other fearfully. Sir Gilbert had been ordered to retire to the castle if the bridge fell, but he had to give the men in the city time to reach the castle. He knew now the rebels had taken the bridge they could use their Ram or climb ladders onto the city walls, he didn’t have enough men to stop a
full scale assault. He ordered the archers to stay at the top of the bridge house and hold off de Montfort’s men as long as possible and sent a man to tell Sir Roger and de Capo. He then ordered the portcullis winch broken, he would not make anything easy for the enemy.
Gilbert was a veteran of many campaigns and although old and not as fast as he used to be was still a soldier. As his man ran to warn de Capo, Gilbert climbed to the battlements and ran to the men on the north wall. Their sergeant listened to him carefully and on his orders the sergeant abandoned the north wall and took his men to the west wall overlooking the river and the bridge. The smoke was moving across the city and starting to dissipate as the Ram was heaved into position and slammed against the portcullis time and again. The whole building shook and it was clear from the movement of the gates each time it was struck it would not last forever.
De Montfort’s men swarmed across the bridge, a mass of men, shields high as protection from the archers and crossbowmen. As they reached the gate house they started to move to their left and along the base of the city wall. Ladders were raised and men started to climb but were beaten back. It would only be temporary as more ladders were being dragged and carried across.
One of the boats was pushed away from the bridge and started to move towards the moat. The archers on the curtain wall saw this and showered the men in the boat with arrows and bolts. Once the boat entered the moat they would be able to ground it and enter the city. Men from the curtain wall ran to the side of the bridge house carrying pole arms to hold back any attempted landing, while the archers caused carnage in the boat amongst the men so closely packed together as the barbed tips pierced flesh, and punched their way through the mail. The range was short and the power of the strikes was at its maximum. The boat drifted away and hit the muddy bank below the curtain wall before bouncing off and drifting back towards the bridge, most of the men in it wounded or dead.
Another boat packed with men moved towards the moat and the portcullis started to buckle in its housing!
~
De Clare had risen early and berated Humfrey for the lack of secrecy. He was shocked at how much de Montfort knew and how the information was being passed to him. Now, much to his chagrin he had been given orders not to move on the city until he received the signal.
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