All around the two newly arrived fishing boats were similar old wooden boats and dinghies. Many were turned upside down to keep out the rain—because their owners lived in them when they were not fishing.
Only if a robber was totally unaware of what would happen next would he try to take the merchant’s coin pouch. That’s when, in the final seconds of his life, he’d discover the man’s tunic covered a shirt of chain mail and a carefully concealed two-edged short sword. His wife was dressed as the wife of a somewhat successful merchant would be dressed and had a similar coin pouch and knife under her skirts.
The man was Henry, once a crusader and a Moorish galley slave and until recently the lieutenant commanding all of the land forces of the company of archers. The woman by his side was his new wife, Jeanette, the spy the archers had once placed in the crusader camp across the waterway from Constantinople’s walls. The six men with Henry and Jeanette were all sergeants or chosen men from the archers’ Cornwall camp. They were the best swordsmen among the archers who could speak French and might be able to sail a fishing boat back and forth between France and Cornwall.
******
Thomas and I had tried to talk Henry out of going to Honfleur with Jeanette but he had been adamant.
“Let Peter take over the land fighting,” Henry had said with the relaxed smile of a man whose mind was made up.” He’s better than I am at training the men and leading them in battle, and we all know it. I’m ready to settle down with Jeanette, enjoy life as a French tavern owner, and be a spy for a while.”
Henry had made a decision and there was no changing it.
“Besides,” Henry said, “I was born in Calais and lived there until I went for a soldier. So I know the language and have an accent the French soldiers and sailors will believe, don’t I?”
There was, of course, a slight problem at the time. Henry was not in France and we didn’t have a sailors’ tavern for Henry and Jeanette to operate. We also didn’t know where they might find one that would be frequented by the sailors who would be in the French invasion fleet or how much they might have to pay to buy it.
The only thing certain was our need to move quickly, which meant Henry and Jeanette would probably have to pay much too much for whatever tavern or other business they bought. That’s why they carried so many gold and silver coins in their purses. The coins should be safe, because the group was well armed. The raggedy roll of dirty bedding one of the fishermen carried over his shoulder had three swords wrapped in it. In addition to the short sword hidden under Henry’s jacket, each of them, including Jeanette, carried a deadly fisherman’s knife.
******
Except for a few friendly nods from fishermen working or living on their boats, the merchant and his wife and their two roughly dressed companions didn’t attract much attention as they walked towards the crude wooden buildings where the local fishermen sold their catches to the Paris buyers and took their pleasures with wine and women. The other four “fishermen” remained behind to guard the boats, ready to push them into the water and sail to Cornwall on a moment’s notice.
The couple’s plan was quite simple: find a place to eat and sleep and then look for a waterfront tavern or market stall patronized by sailors and pay whatever it takes to buy it. Then the listening would begin. Anything important they heard would be carried back to Cornwall on one or both of the fishing boats.
An exhausted Henry and his woman rented a bed for the night in one of the waterfront taverns. The two fishermen bunked nearby. Then the couple and the two fishermen drank and ate in different places and spent the rest of that day and all the next wandering about the port to get the lay of the land.
It took several days and a number of discrete and tentative inquiries to find a place that might meet their needs. It was the two fishermen who found it.
The newlyweds had something to eat and went to bed early to recover from their exhausting trip. The two fishermen, on the other hand, were excited to be in the land of their parents for the first time in their lives, though they would claim to be from an isolated Norman village if anyone were to ask.
The two men posed as brothers. They visited a number of the local taverns and bemoaned their fate over their bowls of wine, implying one of them had personal problems involving a woman in the small Norman port where they’d previously fished. It meant they couldn’t go back for a while. They had decided, they confided to the barmaids and other patrons as they drank their wine, to change their lives by becoming sailors instead of repairing their old boat and returning to fishing.
“If we can’t find berths as sailors on a ship heading to someplace warm, we’ll just have to stay here and try to replace enough of the rotted wood on our boat so we can fish around here until something turns up. Where do you think we should ask around about becoming sailors?” they inquired of everyone.
What the two men discovered and reported to the newlyweds the next morning was that the taverns frequented by the sailors and ship owners were not those where the fishermen got together to drink. The sailors’ haunts were further up the beach, nearer to Honfleur’s wharves and warehouses. They were given the names of several of the sailors’ taverns and directions as to how to find them.
Later in the morning, the middle-aged couple and their two “sons” walked together along the shore to the area of the wharves. Late in the afternoon they struck gold at the third tavern they visited. It was already full of sailors from the cargo transports tied along the wharves and at anchor in the harbour.
Henry inquired of the owner when the wine was served and was told he wasn’t available. The owner’s woman, the tavern girl sadly reported, was down once again with the sailors’ pox and probably wouldn’t survive this time. Such a pity, they all agreed, and one of the sergeants knocked three times on the wooden table for good luck and whispered a silent prayer under his breath.
******
“There are cures in Rome if you have enough coins to pay for the prayers needed to go with them. I know because I’ve been there and seen them work for both men and women.” That’s the lie Henry told the gaunt, white-haired man who greeted them when he and Jeanette knocked softly on the door to his sleeping room above the tavern’s hall. It wasn’t true; he’d never been to Rome.
“And God must want her cured, for he sent me and my wife and sons here looking for a tavern to buy with the coins you’ll need to get her cured and live rich forever after.”
“Our boys are fishermen, and we want to get them ashore where it’s safer,” Jeanette explained.
After two hours of intense hand waving and beard stroking negotiations, Henry and the tavern owner made their marks on a parchment drafted by a hastily summoned scrivener. It resulted in a substantial number of gold bezants and other coins changing hands—so many the tavern owner probably would have sold even if his woman hadn’t been poxed and needed the curing that can only be found where the Pope lives.
****** Jeannete
My husband’s new tavern was a splendid place with old, blackened roof timbers. It had a fireplace at one end of the drinking hall and eight long wooden tables and benches on a dirt floor that soaked up spilled drinks and such. Its biggest problem, as we soon came to discover, was its fireplace. It sometimes pours smoke into the room because it doesn’t draw properly. But it does keep the chill off the hall and our customers seem to like it. They say all the smoke in the room and the warmth of the fire reminds them of how they lived with their families as boys before they went to sea.
We took over the tavern quite smoothly, because both of the barmaids and the cook agreed to remain with us on the same terms they’d previously enjoyed. Our two “sons” were helpful as well. They made themselves useful when drunken customers needed assistance in resolving their disputes and by taking over the dipping of wine out of the barrels late in the evening after Henry and I went off to bed.
Most important of all, our tavern was a popular place and so well located it was usually full of seamen, merchants serving the ca
rgo transports in port, and even customs officials. We actually earned quite a few coins each day and certainly heard a lot of talk about the port and the shipping trade.
Everything almost changed one cold, rainy morning about a week after we bought the place. Three tough-looking men came in when I finally unbarred the door to their insistent pounding. They immediately demanded bowls of wine and then informed me they would not be paying for it because they were there to collect the weekly fee we were required to pay for their protection and goodwill, and free wine is part of the fee. We’d been expecting them ever since we bought the place.
“Oh, I see,” I said to the man who announced his demands to me as I motioned for Henry to come join us.” Well, you need to speak with my husband, don’t you? He’s the new owner, and I’m sure he’d like to talk with you.”
The imposing man who was obviously the leader of the three men greeted Henry in a most unfriendly manner and welcomed him to Honfleur. The other two stood back and did their best to appear intimidating and ferocious. He and his men, the unfriendly man explained, were the watchmen who protect all the quayside taverns and merchants from trouble after the city gates close and the regular city watch disappears. They were calling to collect their weekly fee.
Henry and I had our first disagreement when I suggested we should temporarily pay the local pirates whatever they ask in order to avoid attracting attention. We wouldn’t be here long anyway, I said. Henry refused.” It’s not in my nature,” he explained.” What if it became known to the archers I’d let such wankers threaten me into doing what they wanted? I’d never live it down.”
At first, Henry and I played the role of simple merchant folk and went along with the fee collectors, asking them about their fees and their services and such and making up stories about our experiences running a tavern in Normandy. The three men were quite sure of themselves and soon began increasing their efforts to intimidate us with various warnings about fire setters and a timid city watch which did not come outside the walls after the city gates were shut and such.
They were so sure of themselves and concentrated so hard on intimidating Henry and me that they didn’t pay much attention when our two guards quietly told an early-arriving sailor he would have to leave as we were still closed.
It wasn’t until our visitors heard the loud thunk as the heavy wooden bar dropped into place sealing the door that our visitors realised the place was empty except for the seven of us. The barring of the door seemed to encourage them even more since they apparently thought it meant we couldn’t get away.
“And who besides you three will we have protecting us if we pay you?” Henry inquired rather politely as one of the men brought out a knife and began paring his fingernails with it.
“Three’s enough, old man. Three’s enough.”
That was the wrong thing to say to my new husband; that I knew for sure. He was sensitive, don’t you see?
“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Henry said as he brought his two-edged sword up from the bench behind the table and sliced it straight into the man’s face with a heavy, two-handed swing.” But what if there are only two of you?”
******
The other two toughs stood there gobsmacked for a moment as their spokesman went backwards from the strike, the edge of Henry’s blade stuck deep in his skull. They turned and ran for the door as Henry wrenched the blade free with a grunt. They didn’t make it. Our two “sons” cut them down before they reached it.
One of the men squealed for a moment on his hands and knees until the heavy splat of another fierce blow cut off the noise and most of his head.
My husband and I looked at each.
“What now, husband?” I said rather blandly with a sweet smile as I cocked my head inquiringly even though my heart was racing.” It’s not good for our turnover to have dead men bleeding on the floor.”
Henry smiled his approval at the mildness of my comment and then nodded his satisfaction quite strongly towards the two sergeants to acknowledge their help.
“Pull the bastards out the back door if no one’s around and cover them with firewood or something,” Henry ordered them.” We’ll carry them down to the boats when it gets dark and take them for a swim. But first bring in some wood for the fire and get it going; it looks to be another cold, nasty day.”
******
Three days later, our tavern was suddenly full of talk and rumours that King Phillip was about to call for all the fishing boats and shipping along the coast to be assembled for the use of his army. Where they would assemble and whether or not the rumour was true were all hotly argued. Harold and I fetched many a bowl of wine in the days that followed as we asked questions about the rumours and agreed with all the answers, as any good tavern owner would do. We debated sending word to Cornwall. I wanted to but we didn’t because Henry decided we didn’t know enough.
Chapter Eleven
William
Henry and Jeanette were not the only ones making progress that winter. My brother Thomas rode to London and returned on one of our galleys with the king’s seal on the parchments he’d drafted. All winter long, galleys and cogs fought their way through the Atlantic and Channel storms, coming in daily from the east with exhausted men and additional supplies.
The arrival of our boats and the additional men and supplies presented us with a several pleasant problems—where to moor our boats and what to do with the men and supplies. It kept Peter Sergeant, the lieutenant who replaced Henry, and the rest of us constantly scrambling to organize and accommodate the new arrivals. The result was an ever-growing number of archers and sailors camped and training along the river where some of the galleys had been pulled out of the water and at Fowey Village at the mouth of the river. The sailors were kept busy working on their boats and learning to fight with swords and pikes.
******
Fowey Village and its harbour was where Harold spent the winter—intensively training our men in ship-to-ship fighting, with particular emphasis on using our archers and sailors to take cargo transports and galleys and sail away with them as prizes.
My son George became Harold’s apprentice sergeant and followed him about wherever he went. Both of them lived in a hurriedly-built cottage next to the new tent camp Harold set up next Fowey Village. One of the smith’s girls, the older and taller one, went there with George to make sure his clothes were clean and he and Harold were properly fed and such. Her name is Beth. She and George, Thomas told me with a great deal of satisfaction soon after he returned from London, “are off to Fowey Village to help Harold and get to know each other.”
It was all quite proper between George and Beth, as Thomas said the necessary words and prayers for them before he rode to London accompanied by six of Raymond’s Horse Archers. I gave George several gifts to celebrate their joining and comfort him when he was away from her bed: a shirt of chain mail to protect him and an absolutely splendid set of carved chess pieces I’d bought from one of Constantinople refugees.
Everyone was quite pleased with the arrangement, particularly Beth and George. Even Helen smiled and said she approved when I asked her about it last night.
“He’s grown up to be a man, my love,” she explained as she snuggled up against me and nibbled on my ear. “He needs a woman to care for him just as you do.”
******
Our training efforts and preparations for war intensified as our galleys and men arrived and gave us ever more powerful force. They intensified again after the king put his seal to the agreement regarding our future ownership of Rougemont and its lands, even though we kept the agreement secret so only Thomas and I knew they would be ours if the Earl of Devon joined the rebel barons.
I don’t know what we’d have done if the king had not agreed to reward us with Rougemont—probably nothing different. The Earl of Devon is too much of a threat to us, and the king and his men are far away and nowhere near as strong as they seem to think. If we ever take Rougemont, we’ll say our prayers and fight to k
eep it even if the king tries to take it for himself or give it to one of his favourites.
As you might imagine, word quickly spread through our ranks about the recall of our galleys and fighting men. And, of course, everyone could see the big build-up of our forces and our greatly increased training and preparations. The men and their sergeants were certain something big was afoot even if they didn’t know what it was. And what our men knew, their women and the merchants and spies all knew as well.
Only my five lieutenants and I knew of our plan to hit the French and barons whilst the French fleet was still assembling. We didn’t want anyone else to know until after we sailed. That meant the sergeants captaining our galleys wouldn’t be told their destinations until all our galleys were in the Fowey estuary and fully loaded and rowing for France under favourable weather conditions.
Preparing our men and galleys for a battle but not telling them where and when it will be until the last minute worked quite nicely when we attacked Tunis and Algiers; hopefully it will work here as well. Many of our men were veterans of one or more of our raids. They understood and were quite pleased with the secrecy.
God forbid things change and we have to deploy our men to fight on land because the French and barons steal a march on us and reach Cornwall or Devon before we can attack their fleet. We would fight them on land if they come to Cornwall or Devon, but we would greatly prefer to take the French transports as prizes so the French never come here at all.
Rumours of all sorts continued to fly among our men. I heard about them all the time. If the recall of our galleys and archers and the sudden increase in their training and our war preparations had awakened everyone’s imaginations, the sudden and unannounced departure of Henry and the arrival of Peter as his replacement lit a fire under them.
Peter, Thomas, and I have each taken one of Thomas’s older boy sergeants for an apprentice and begun a routine. And so has Randolph, who has been promoted to lieutenant and taken Peter’s place as my deputy. Each day the young sergeants rode with us as we move up and down the cart path along the Fowey making sure the archers had their required archery and sword fighting practices, lots of good food, warm clothes and warm places to sleep.
Castling The King Page 8