Master of War

by David Gilman

  ‘Horsemen!’ he called, and saw the sentries scan the horizon.

  Meulon ran out of the watchtower’s guardroom, pulling on his helmet. ‘Stand to arms!’ he shouted, then leaned over the parapet. ‘Below!’ he called to the man at the bridge. ‘Inside!’

  The bridge sentry pushed the villagers clear of the entrance and ran for the gate. If this was an attack they would go under the sword before he would.

  ‘I’ve lost them,’ one of the sentries called, scanning the horizon.

  Blackstone peered into the poor light, but his eyesight was keen and he saw the brief flutter of the banner as it showed itself from the undulating ground.

  ‘Your lord’s banner! North-east!’ he cried, pointing out to where the column of horsemen would soon appear in the distance. It was the de Harcourt armorial flag of red and gold bars, followed by a half-dozen riders who turned and headed straight for the castle. Before the men’s faces could be seen Blackstone already knew that it was the bull-like figure of Sir Godfrey who led them. Was the war won?

  Blackstone pounded down the steps into the courtyard, a grim satisfaction that the tug of the leg wound was a tightening of his muscle and nothing more. As he reached the gatehouse he saw Jean de Harcourt moving down the castle’s steps followed by the other noblemen.

  The wind carried the thudding sound of hooves as de Harcourt peered through the spy latch in the gate, the soldiers ready to open the main gate once he gave the command. Blackstone stood back, watching de Harcourt’s concern. Obviously his uncle was not expected.

  ‘It’s Sir Godfrey, my lord. I’d recognize him at five hundred paces,’ Blackstone said.

  ‘You’ve an archer’s eye, Thomas, but dishonourable men can hide beneath a surcoat and a helm and bring enemies into your house.’

  ‘It’s him. I swear it,’ Blackstone answered confidently.

  De Harcourt peered towards the distant fringe of woodland, waiting until the approaching men were less than two hundred yards away. ‘Open the gates!’ he commanded, and moments later when the great doors swung open the horses were already clattering across the wooden bridge. Noblemen and servants alike pressed back as the marshal of the English army rode into the outer bailey. The horses billowed steam, their flanks heaving. They had been ridden hard.

  Sir Godfrey dismounted with the ease of a man half his age. He quickly embraced his nephew and glanced at the gathered men. Blackstone saw that a mixture of emotions ran among them. Sir Godfrey was their enemy but kinsman to their host. All had fought the English but here was the open traitor among them. Antagonism towards their own King was one thing, but for some of those present to welcome a man who had helped lay waste to their lands was another.

  ‘Cool them down, then feed and water them,’ Sir Godfrey commanded the stable-hands who ran forward to hold the bridles. ‘Pack food and drink for my men! We leave within the hour!’

  Then he turned quickly, taking Jean de Harcourt by the elbow, and limped towards the great hall, followed by the half-dozen mud-spattered men who fanned out protectively behind him. He had not glanced in Blackstone’s direction, which made him feel an inexplicable pang of loss.

  ‘You’re safe here,’ Blackstone heard Jean de Harcourt say to his uncle, glancing nervously at the men who came behind them, each with a hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

  ‘Nowhere is safe for me, Jean. Not any longer,’ Sir Godfrey told him without breaking his limping stride.

  ‘Sir Godfrey!’ de Fossat called after him. ‘Are you here to give us the English terms of surrender?’

  The noblemen bristled as the old warrior turned to face them. ‘I’m here to see my nephew. If I’d have known you’d be here, de Fossat, I’d have brought more men to protect my back.’

  ‘Damn you, Godfrey, we’re here at his invitation and you know why!’ de Fossat spat back, unafraid of the older man’s status.

  ‘Then you’ll wait until you’re sent for,’ Sir Godfrey told him.

  ‘Have you won?’ Henri Livay asked. ‘Has Edward taken the crown from Philip?’

  ‘While you hunt and gossip the war has ground to a halt. The great King Philip is in Paris behind bolted doors,’ Sir Godfrey told him, his emphasis on great heavy with sarcasm. ‘Edward is with his Queen, starving out Calais. I’ll summon you when I’m ready!’ And with that dismissal he urged his nephew up the steps of the inner ward towards the great hall.

  William de Fossat made as if to step forward and confront Sir Godfrey, but de Mainemares held his arm.

  ‘There’s trouble. Leave him be. He’ll tell us in his own time. We’re in this together. Like it or not, we have to wait for him,’ he said.

  Rebuffed by Sir Godfrey, the humiliated noblemen shook them­selves like peacocks, choking on their anger; only de Mainemares and de Graville seemed unconcerned as they moved away together like two men who understood that patience was needed.

  De Mainemares’ words to de Fossat were not lost on Blackstone, but he ignored the flustered nobles and made his way discreetly behind Sir Godfrey and his nephew. What was the old fighter doing here now? he wondered. It had to be important and he offered little if any respect to the other noblemen. They may be enemies, but there’s obviously a link between all these men, he thought.

  Sir Godfrey’s men looked efficient and alert despite what must have been a long ride. Blackstone desperately wanted to reach the small gallery that overlooked the hall from one of de Harcourt’s private rooms before the doors below were guarded. He turned down the passageway where a small oak door gave access to steps up to a half-landing and then another dozen more that opened into the solar. He prayed that Blanche de Harcourt was not there with the other wives, or that personal servants were not in the family’s private room. He paused, held his breath, and listened beyond the thudding of his heart. The solar was empty. He crossed the floor, then went up a few more steps. He pressed his back against the wall and carefully lifted the wooden spindle latch, closing the door behind him. A floorboard creaked under his weight. He froze, not daring to move and look over the edge of the gallery. The men had already entered, the heavy chestnut doors below buffeting the air as they shut.

  ‘Mother of God, Jean, this is an unholy mess. But I had to come and warn you.’

  There was the clink of glass, a bottle glugged its contents and a metal object – that had to be Sir Godfrey’s helm, Blackstone thought – clattered onto the table.

  ‘About what? My King can’t doubt me or the others. We bled for Philip!’

  ‘Aye, that’ll keep suspicion at bay for a while. There’s a death sentence on me now, Jean,’ Sir Godfrey said after slurping the drink. ‘More. I need it.’ Again the sound of liquid being poured reached Blackstone. You want to hear a rabbit move? Or a deer step ladylike through the forest? Open your jaw, lad – let the sound reach you. Every poacher learns that. Blackstone slackened his jaw slightly, easing the tension, remembering his father’s lesson. The words below became subdued but Blackstone could hear the muted tension clearly enough.

  ‘Edward is not going to pursue Philip into Paris.’

  ‘He’s given up?’

  ‘No, he’s settled for the territory he wanted. Imagine fighting through that warren of streets – Christ, it’d be worse than Caen! Every pot maker and whore could trap and kill the men.’

  ‘Then they’ve signed a truce?’ Jean asked.

  ‘Not yet, and there’s no sign of one. So this grand war of con­quest has turned out to be nothing more than a goddamned raid!’ A glass smashed.

  ‘Then Edward has abandoned you?’ said Jean incredulously. ‘After giving him the Cotentin, St Lô, Caen? And how much more slaughter could you have done against us at Crécy? We chose badly, but I couldn’t convince Father to relinquish his duty to the King. You’ll have more than bitterness to contend with here, uncle! These men were waiting for a treaty. They were waiting to side with you! Is there nothing you can say to Edward?’

  ‘He’ll take Calais eventually – that giv
es him everything he needs. It’s his gateway into France. No, he’s not abandoned me, but I’m adrift in the slurry of shit that will sweep down upon me. The garrison at Caen has broken out and slaughtered the men we left to guard the city. My men have been killed at home. What remained of my lands is seized. The French have regained much of what we took. Edward doesn’t have the money to pursue this war and Philip is bankrupt. Christ Jesus! I have to go and beg forgiveness in Paris or we’ve lost everything.’

  ‘The King will never forgive you. Never. He’s a vengeful man. He’ll want your head on a pike for us all to see.’

  There was silence and the sound of a weary man slumping into a chair. ‘It has to be done. It’s more than my life that matters now. Edward will come back. Normandy must be sworn to the English crown. Then we control our own destiny.’

  ‘I followed my father and saw him die. This family stands divided because of Philip and his weakness, but I won’t give myself to the English, nor will the others. Not now!’

  Sir Godfrey sighed. ‘I know that. Sweet Jesus, I thought Edward was going to sweep all before him. Listen, Jean, we need to keep the others under control. If I am reprieved it means we take longer to coerce the King. He has lost this war, and if Edward cannot finish the job now the time will come when he will. One day he’ll call on us again and we have to be ready.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Jean de Harcourt said, ‘I’ll get the others. You tell them yourself.’

  Blackstone heard de Harcourt move across the floor.

  ‘Jean! Wait. There’s a reason I needed to talk to you first. Black­stone, did he live?’

  Blackstone could barely resist taking the few paces forward and calling down. I’m here, Sir Godfrey, he wanted to shout. There were questions tumbling from his mind. Who lived, who died at Crécy? Did any of my archers survive? He felt his heart pulse in his throat at the mention of his own name and what might be said about him.

  ‘Thomas? Yes.’

  ‘Is he strong? Capable?’

  ‘He’s a fighter. Crude, belligerent, and damned insolent. But he saved my life and I offered him my friendship. And you should tell your Prince and your King that the man he asked our family to protect is safe and well. We honour our pledges, Godfrey, even to our enemies. Let Edward mark that and remember us for it. For the future.’

  ‘His presence could cause your arrest. Philip is using mercenaries to root out Englishmen and Gascons who hold French towns. They’ll come here and they’ll want him. A man who saved the Prince at Crécy is a prize. He’s worthless for ransom, so they’ll kill him and make an example of him.’

  Blackstone’s mind raced. Was that why Sir Godfrey had brought his men? To take him prisoner? Would he be offered as a sacrifice to the King of France to help Sir Godfrey save his own life? The voice in his head told him to calm down, but it fought the surge of anger that threatened to overtake him. Escape from the castle and back to the English lines was his only hope.

  Jean de Harcourt said, ‘They have no idea he’s here. How could they know?’

  ‘Because he killed some of the mercenaries who hold Chaulion and sent a message warning them to stay off your land!’

  ‘Then so what? They’re bastard skinners who don’t need any mercy.’

  ‘Jean, those who hold Chaulion do so at the command of Philip.’

  Both men fell silent for a moment.

  ‘He’s using them to keep the English from taking towns,’ said Sir Godfrey. ‘He can’t pay them so they take what they want with­out fear of being stopped. They offer protection to those who want it. It serves the King twice over. Why do you think I came here? To warn you. Blackstone let one of them live but he saw your men’s livery.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘We intercepted one of their messengers. He spewed bile and information before we killed him but the other escaped. They’ve sent word to Paris that you harbour an Englishman favoured by Edward. The King will send a warrant of arrest and he’ll have routiers riding for him. Those scum will be here, Jean. Be warned. They’re coming.’

  ‘I’ll not hand him over to mercenaries,’ said de Harcourt, ‘even with a royal warrant.’

  Blackstone’s gratitude and relief nearly swamped him.

  ‘You do what you want, but you’ll have barely a few days to decide. Have you told Blackstone what role he was to play in our plans?’

  There it was, Blackstone realized, the snare that held him was being tightened by the grand poacher himself.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Then say nothing. If he’s taken he could have every one of you hanged. All right, get the others in here; I’ll tell them about Edward at Calais and try to keep them on the leash until fortune favours us again. But I wouldn’t count on them helping you to shield Blackstone.’

  Blackstone eased away from the gallery as gently as he could down the stairs into the lower corridor. He had heard enough. There was a conspiracy between these men and he needed to find out what had been planned for him. He did not yet know how he would find out, but when he did he would take Christiana to Calais and serve King Edward again.

  Sir Godfrey’s arrival caused a flurry of activity, but also unsettled the servants and the men who guarded the walls. That he had been allowed free entry into the castle showed that Jean de Harcourt was allowing the English King’s ally into the heart of his enemy.

  Meulon saw Blackstone make his way through the colonnade. He raised his hand to attract his attention and, when he stopped, ran down to him. ‘Sir Thomas, can you tell me what’s going on? Are the English coming to attack us?’

  ‘There’s no attack, Meulon.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s family business.’

  ‘There are rumours that my Lord de Harcourt is in danger from our King. Some of the servants gossip that there’s a conspiracy between Sir Godfrey and the other barons.’

  Blackstone gripped the man’s arm and turned him away from some of the soldiers who stood on the wall watching them. ‘You’re their captain. You know as well as I do that rumours can tear men apart. Keep them disciplined. Your lord will depend on you, as he has done in the past.’

  Meulon nodded. He wasn’t happy, but he accepted the English­man’s explanation.

  ‘And if you hear anyone gossip, beat him. Protect your lord and his family from such rumours and keep the servants in their place.’ As Blackstone gave his orders there was a voice in his own mind. You, a common man, telling a soldier to beat a servant. He dismissed the self-condemnation and turned on his heel. There was no sign of Christiana anywhere; she would be with the women, most likely the countess, so there was no point trying to find her. The barons had filed into the great hall and by the time Sir Godfrey came out an hour later the horses had been refreshed and food supplied for the onward journey. Once again Jean de Harcourt accompanied his uncle towards the main gate flanked by Sir Godfrey’s men. Blackstone saw Blanche and Christiana emerge from a side door and the lady’s call to Sir Godfrey checked his step.

  ‘Blanche, forgive me, there is no time.’

  Christiana held back as Blanche de Harcourt stepped forward to question him. ‘Sir Godfrey, it seems you have always brought distress to my house – is my family in danger?’

  ‘Blanche,’ said Jean, aggrieved at her intrusion. ‘My uncle is leaving – don’t delay him.’

  The feisty countess did not yield. ‘I have young children and there are other families as my guests. So if there is danger following on your heels I need to know just as much as my lord and husband.’ She tilted her chin slightly, as if declaring her own rank. ‘I have the right.’

  Blackstone moved closer to the old warrior, eager to be noticed by him.

  ‘There is no danger for you or your family,’ Sir Godfrey told her, ‘I give you my word. I am the one in jeopardy and I came here to help Jean. You must believe me.’

  She studied him for a moment and then nodded with gratitude. ‘Thank you.’

  Sir Godfrey looked beyond her and s
aw Christiana. And, just as he did the previous time, Blackstone saw the hard man of war soften. ‘Child, come here.’

  Christiana did as he commanded and bent her knee before him. ‘You have prospered since I saw you last, and I will tell you what I have told your guardians: you are safe here.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir Godfrey, for your kindness and your good wishes.’

  ‘I knew your father well, and although we fought on opposite sides, it was I who told him to send you to the countess for safety’s sake. So I’m pleased that at least one decision I made was the correct one.’ The comment had no meaning for her because she had no knowledge of the difficulties Sir Godfrey now found himself in.

  ‘Have you seen my father?’ she asked hopefully.

  Blackstone saw Jean de Harcourt turn his face away. Sir Godfrey stumbled for a moment as he too was caught unawares. Black­stone felt his heart go out to her and a sickening sense of ill fortune clutched at him.

  ‘Have you not told her?’ Sir Godfrey asked his nephew in a low voice.

  The look of quiet despair on the count’s face needed no further explanation. Christiana stepped back. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’

  Sir Godfrey nodded. ‘In the early days when we came ashore. He fought for his sworn lord Robert Bertrand. My enemy. I thought he might have escaped into Caen, but there was no report of him fighting there and we swept through all those early defences. I’m sorry, child.’

  The marshal of the army climbed into the saddle. Blackstone hesitated as Blanche reached out to hold Christiana’s hand and comfort her. Tears welled in her eyes, but Blackstone knew she would not break down in front of the servants. His oppor­tunity to ask whether Sir Gilbert had survived the battle had passed. To approach now would serve no purpose. Christiana’s grief could not be usurped.

  Instead he grabbed the horse’s bridle, steadying it as soldiers jostled to open the gate. The grey beard stared down at him.

  ‘Thomas Blackstone,’ he said, recognizing him despite his scar.

  ‘My lord.’

  ‘Your day will come, but whether I’ll be alive to see it is another matter. You owe a debt to your Prince and to the King, and you’ll honour my nephew’s commands. We don’t need a rogue Englishman in our midst thinking for himself. You can leave those matters to others better qualified.’ He nodded curtly and spurred the horse free of Blackstone’s grip. The soldiers followed and the gates closed behind them.