“Lady Isabel is the wife of Lord Courtenay who has gone crusading. She retains a residence here and enjoys our oath of protection and the right to live here under the terms of the contract we signed with her husband.”
I said it clearly and emphatically for all to hear. I suspect Sir William knows this, but I wanted to reaffirm it for him, his men, and mine. Plus, it would reassure Isabel, should she be concerned about her safety. Is it possible the king sent Sir William here to kill her?
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir William. Your honour and goodness are well known.”
Good answer, Isabel; good answer indeed.
******
Marshal was obviously as surprised to find me and my men at Okehampton as we were to see him. He mentioned it once again as we all sat down at the long table, and the castle servants and Isabel’s maid rushed in with bread and cheese and more ale. Marshal and his knights sat on one side of table, my men and I on the other. The knights’ squires sat at one end of the table and listened without ever saying a word.
Sir William and his knights and my lieutenants listened intently as I explained we were here checking on the state of Okehampton’s supplies and fortifications and making sure the emergency food we are bringing in for famine relief is being distributed to all who need it. Later, when the food servers were out of hearing, I admitted to Marshal and his men that we were still trying to decide whether or not to fight to hold Okehampton if the French or barons come this way in the spring. The alternative, I told them, is to fall back on Launceston which is much more defensible.
Actually, Okehampton would be quite defensible with a score or two of archers and enough stores for a long siege. He could see that for himself. I mentioned Launceston as even more defensible so he’ll think twice about coming against us.
“What we do will depend,” I told Sir William, “on how many men we can bring in on our galleys and cogs before the French or barons arrive and how ready we can get our men to fight on land. The only thing certain is we will throw everything we have into the fight if either the French or the rebel barons set so much as one foot on our land.”
What I did not mention, and had quickly and quietly cautioned my lieutenants not to mention as soon as I saw it was William Marshal riding into the bailey at the head of our visitors, was our intention to attack the French invasion fleet when it begins assembling and our belief that our archers, who are fully trained to fight on both land and sea as Marines, are far superior in terms of training and equipment to King John’s men and the French.
“Are you sure the French and barons are coming?” Marshal responded.
It soon became apparent that the king had sent Marshal to make sure I had not sent in a false alarm. I described in detail how we found out about the barons’ plans, my lieutenants nodding and murmuring in agreement as I did.
Sir William listened and appeared to be convinced—perhaps because he could see the way we were feverishly working to complete some semblance of a second wall and bailey at Okehampton. I informed him we had already sent out the orders recalling our galleys and men from as far away as Cyprus and the Holy Land, something the king’s spies would soon be able to verify for themselves. It helped when Harold nodded and glumly muttered “all sixty-two of them” when I said we were recalling our galleys.
“We expect the French to land in Sussex as the Normans did years ago, but if they land at Exeter or thereabouts, we’ll give them a bloody nose and hold them until you arrive with the king’s army.”
I told a lie when I said we expect the French to land in Sussex; we actually expect them to land in Devon. I lied because we don’t want the king’s army coming here and pillaging Cornwall and Devon for food and spreading their poxes, not unless and until we actually need them—which, at the earliest, would be after we attack the French fleet as they are being assembled.
Marshal heard Harold’s comment and saw the intensity of the work underway on Okehampton’s walls. I think he believed me when I said we intended to fight and fight hard. Then he asked about the castle’s food reserves and the local famine situation in general; he had heard we were bringing food in from the east on our transports.
“Is it true you’re feeding everyone in Cornwall?” the king’s man asked.
“Yes, Sir William, we are indeed. Well, almost everyone, or so it seems. Anyone who needs food in Cornwall can labour for us in some way and get it. We have no choice. The corn and pilchards have totally failed for the second year in a row. Without bread and fish, the people won’t survive over the winter until the spring crops come in. I have an obligation to help them, even though I’ve had to go into debt to the merchants in Cyprus and elsewhere to pay for the corn and dried fish they are sending us. The merchants use our galleys and cogs to carry their goods, so they know they have little risk of not being paid.”
We were only pretending to be poor. There was no need to let Marshal and his men or anyone else, even our own men, know we have a huge hoard of coins and gold at Restormel. If we were foolish enough to mention our treasures, the king and his knights would be more likely to come here to rob us instead of fighting the French.
Then our talk turned back to the coming war with the French and rebel nobles and our intention to fight if the French land in Devon—and I repeated my statement that we would hold off the French until King John’s army arrived.
“Nonsense, absolute nonsense,” said a white-bearded older knight named Brereton sitting to Marshal’s right. He ran his greasy fingers through his hair and shook his head in disdain at my statement.
“You might try to fight, I’ll give you that, but you won’t hold the French for a minute, not one minute. You don’t have a single knight or man-at-arms in your service, just some archers and sailors. Phillip’s men will gallop their horses right over you.”
I started to say something but bit my tongue, motioning to Henry who was leaning forward and about to strongly disagree.
There’s nothing to be gained by letting people like Marshal and Brereton know what happens when mounted knights and men-at-arms attack archers with longbows and pike men armed with our new bladed, long, oak pikes.
“Ah well,” I finally said.” You may be right, Sir Thomas, you may be right indeed; but we’ll be behind our own walls and moats, won’t we? So we’ll whittle them down a bit, and there’ll be fewer of the French and rebel barons for you to finish off when you and the rest of the king’s army get here.”
Marshal looked at me sharply as if he’d caught a whiff of irony and dismissal in my answer and didn’t know what it meant.
******
“I need to get back to the king as soon as possible,” Sir William said.” I must let him know your warning is real. Besides, we will need to contract for certain mercenary companies from the lowlands before Phillip can sign them on to fight with the French.”
I, in turn, made sure he and Brereton understood how vulnerable England and King John would be to a French invasion so long as Rougemont was in the hands of the king’s enemies, such as the Earl of Devon.
“Exeter and Plymouth will always be safe places for the barons to gather and the French to land until we hold both Okehampton and Rougemont,” I told them.” Please keep that in mind when you speak with the king.”
Before he departed, Sir William and I promised to send each other any new information either of us turned up regarding the French king and the rebel barons and their intentions. Sir William specifically promised to send word when the king finalized his plan to mobilize his army and to provide us with the names of the barons who were thought to be opposed to the king.
I didn’t tell him we had spies in Exeter who may be able to find out about Devon’s plans or that we were in the process of sending spies to France to watch for the French fleet. Similarly, Sir William didn’t share any information with me about the king’s spies in France or among the barons, not that I would have expected him to do so or told him about ours even if he’d told me about the king’
s. But I do wonder if the king has any spies among them or, for that matter, whether he has any spies or informants in Devon or Cornwall.
We agreed to communicate by sending parchments to each other by ship via the sergeant captaining my shipping post near the London wharves. We also agreed, so long as the road is safe and open, to send duplicate parchments of every message using gallopers moving on the old Roman road between wherever the king is located and Okehampton.
The king’s war leader was as good as his word; he and his men mounted their horses and clattered out of Okehampton’s bailey early the next day. They must have leather arses. He rode out over the drawbridge knowing Thomas would soon be appearing at the king’s court with a parchment contract affirming our continuing and faithful support for King John and specifying what we were to receive in return for holding Cornwall and Devon for him against his enemies—Rougemont Castle in Exeter and the lands of the traitorous Earl of Devon as freeholds.
Chapter Five
George.
Being a sergeant with my own little army of four archers to command was quite enjoyable. It was the first time I’d ever really been in command of anything or been out on my own. The last I heard of my father, he and my uncle Thomas and their lieutenants were on their way to Okehampton for some reason. It must be important, because they all travelled together and took an entire ship’s company of archers with them.
I myself was in Penzance delivering two wains of famine food with John, a churl’s son from Henley, as my chosen man. John was a strong archer and quite short, so he made his mark on our company list as John Short. John and I had three new one-stripe archers with us who, until recently, had been apprentices.
We five were temporarily living in the priests’ house of the Penzance parish church to pass out the food we’d brought to the local people and assign them work. The famine was strong hereabouts, so almost everyone needed the food except the local miller. He used his wheel to grind the corn for a share of the flour.
Penzance was a problem at first. Uncle Thomas had chopped the head off the local priest when he discovered the man had been keeping the famine food away from the local people so he could sell it. That upset the local people, because they thought God’s wrath might descend on them because of the priest’s death and make the famine even worse. I myself would have been more concerned about eating than God’s concern about a thieving priest.
The people of Penzance were quite surprised when I rode in with my men and two wains loaded with food “from the good Earl of Cornwall”. They were even more surprised when I showed up on Sunday as the priest in the parish church and spoke the Latin words at them and told them why they were wrong to worry about the thieving priest who got chopped by his bishop. He got what he deserved.
Do I know about such things? Of course not, but it sounded good and seemed to relieve them. Collecting coins and saying whatever it takes to relieve people’s fears is what a priest’s labour is all about according to Uncle Thomas.
******
The priests’ cottage next door to the little church was a nice place to live, even though it’s recently departed inhabitant’s head hung on a pole just outside the door and was beginning to smell most foul. Uncle Thomas hung it there so everyone could see what would happen to someone who tried to steal the food “the good earl was providing” or avoided the required labour.
It’s probably time to take it down; the birds have been at it for a while so there’s not much left. He’s totally unrecognizable.
A strapping woman of about thirty years by the name of Mary does our cooking and service in return for her food and a few coins each year. She doesn’t live with us; she lives nearby in a one-room cottage with her son and her mother. The three of them stood together in church on Sunday. She and everyone else seemed surprised to see me when I walked in behind the cross, holding up the tattered old Bible I’d found in the priests’ house, and then stood in front of the little altar and began praying and chanting at them in Latin. Even the archers were impressed.
It was good fun and rather exciting. I’d never prayed at people before except in practice. Next time I go somewhere, I’ll have to remember to bring my own Bible, the one my uncle made me copy from his when he was teaching us Latin.
Mary’s husband and one of her sons were local fisherman whose boat disappeared in a storm several years ago. Her other son, the one who came to church with them, was working with us for his bread and fish. He was part of the group working to improve the cart path to the village and build a stone bridge over the little stream that runs along the edge of the village before it flows out to the sea—the one where the villagers take their cows to drink and the women draw their water.
******
“How did you learn to read and talk the church words?” Mary asked me most shyly as she brought me a bowl of ale when I returned to the priests’ house after church. She stood next to me, and I could feel her breast rub my shoulder as she leaned over, waiting for my answer.
“My uncle taught me,” I replied with a somewhat distracted smile and a catch in my throat.” He’s a priest and an archer too. He’s the Bishop of Cornwall, even though Cornwall’s so poor he doesn’t have many priests to order about. There’s naught but we five new ones now that the priest who used to be here is gone.”
“I like priests. I used to comfort the priest before he was killed for his thieving. He insisted on it. He liked me to touch him and kiss him right there, that he did. Would you be liking me for that too?
“Here, I’ll show you so you can decide.”
I held my breath. I was quite certain what was coming but I couldn’t believe it.
“Oh my! You do like it!”
And without a further word, she knelt in front of me, pulled up my smock, and began kissing and playing with my dingle. I liked it very much and never did get to the archery tournament. One of the new archers won it.
******
“We shall all be most sorry when you’re gone away,” one of the smith’s daughters said to me as she stood in the doorway and shyly handed me the caps she’d knitted for me and my men whilst her younger sister smirked behind her.
Knitting and spinning were among the labours women are allowed to do in exchange for their famine food. The girls’ mother was running errands and fetching for the men working on the new bridge; their father is the village smith.
The smith’s older daughter’s name was Beth. She was a tall and most comely girl. Despite her smock, I could see she had curves in all the good places just as Mary does. I couldn’t help but regret she wasn’t working in the priests’ house and meeting me out back by the old tree every evening after dark instead of Mary.
“You’d like to have them, wouldn’t you?” Mary said with a smile a few minutes later as we watched the two girls walk away from the cottage. Then she reached for me, lifted her smock, and turned around and bent over. I forgot all about the girls.
******
Beth and Becky were equally interested and curious about the strong young man and not at all distracted by anyone as they walked away from the priests’ house. Actually, they were intensely interested in George, and it had so distracted them from everything else they’d left their spinning and weaving in hopes of talking to him—and they had. It was quite exciting for both girls. Becky actually skipped for a step or two as they walked away from the priests’ cottage.
“Do you think he’s really a priest, him being an archer and all?”
“Maybe we should forget him, Becky,” Beth said rather thoughtfully without answering the question.” He’s beyond us isn’t he? Besides, he acts like a priest and he knows how to scribe and sum and such. He’ll never do for us, no matter how much we want him.”
“I know, but I can’t help it. It was all I could do not to cry when I saw him walk into church Sunday holding up the book. I thought he was an archer like the others. Do you think he’s really a priest? Is it true they can’t have women?”
“It didn
’t stop the last one did it? Being a priest, I mean. Everyone knows he was into Mary every chance he could get and she liked it. Hmm. Maybe Mum could find one of the fishing men or churls to wed Mary, and we could take her place. We share a bed and everything else. Why not him too?”
“Our mum would never do it,” she said, shaking her head. “Da might find out and hit her.”
“Then we’ll have to do it ourselves, won’t we?”
******
That evening as the sun was going down, the smith’s girls walked to the beach in front of the village where the fishing men pulled their boats ashore. It’s a small village and everyone in Penzance knows everyone else. There were friendly greetings and smiles for the girls all along the way until they reached the man they were seeking. He was sitting in the middle of a fishing net with a great wooden needle in his hand.
“Hello, Sam. We’ve come to visit you with some gossip we heard about you.”
The lanky, grey-haired man sewing his net looked up in surprise as the Beth and Becky stopped in front of him.
“Hello, you two,” he said with a smile.” What’s that you said about gossip?”
“We know some gossip we’re not supposed to tell you. Silly womenfolk talk about you is all it is—that someone fancies you and such.”
“Who? Me? You be daft and pulling me toes; that’s what you’re up to.”
“Oh no. I’m sure it’s true. She really likes you and wants to walk about with you if only you would ask.”
“Who?”
“Didn’t you know? The widow Mary at the priests’ house. All alone poor Mary is these days, now that the priest’s gone and her son is away all the time putting stones on the road. She’s wondering why you aren’t knocking on her door, isn’t she?”
The next day, the girls waited until they saw George go off with his men in one of the wagons. Then they knocked on the door of the priests’ house and told Mary about the gossip they’d heard about Sam the fisherman wanting to walk out with her but being too shy to ask. They mentioned their willingness to take the housekeeper’s position in the priests’ house if she decided to take up with the fisherman permanent-like and help him with his fishing.
Castling The King Page 4