B00B9BL6TI EBOK

by C. B. Hanley

  The other knight’s face fell. ‘Well, if you must put it like that …’

  ‘I must. But cheer yourself; they may need to be rescued as they flee the place with hundreds of French at their heels, and there’s always the battle after that. You’re better off waiting to fight properly, not skulking around like a spy.’

  Sir Reginald brightened. ‘You’re right. There’ll be plenty of fighting to keep us busy!’ He strode off, whistling.

  Sir Gilbert shook his head in amusement and turned to the still-silent Edwin. ‘Besides, I think you’re much more likely to be able to get the information and then bring it out without doing anything stupid.’ He moved to speak with another knight just ahead of them, and Edwin was left wondering whether to be flattered or frightened.

  The sun was touching the horizon behind them as they mounted their horses. Edwin groaned inwardly at the thought of another few miles of purgatory, but somewhat to his own surprise he swung himself into the saddle almost naturally and managed not to flinch too much. He had spent an hour with little to do but contemplate the horrors ahead, and now his innards felt so twisted that he might as well have swallowed a rope. He could feel the cold sweat pooling around him, and the dryness of his mouth. Thoughts hopped and skipped this way and that through his mind and then scattered in all directions before he could catch them. The taste of fear was sharp. He wanted nothing else but to be running in the opposite direction, to run all the way home to Conisbrough and sleep safely in his mother’s cottage, his home, but there was no escape. There was nothing to do but follow the man in front and try to keep a lid on the rising tide of panic.

  He didn’t know that his two knightly friends were watching him closely as they rode a few places behind.

  Sir Reginald spoke first. ‘I’m worried for him. He has no combat experience, no idea of how to fight …’

  ‘If all goes well, he shouldn’t need to. He’ll be there to use his mind, not his sword.’

  ‘But … are we right to be trusting the success of the whole campaign to one such man? A commoner, after all, and one so young.’

  Sir Gilbert considered a moment before replying, looking intently at the figure riding obliviously ahead. Then he spoke firmly. ‘Commoner, yes. Inexperienced, yes. But there is something about him … he’s frightened, but when it comes down to it, he will do his duty.’

  They rode on.

  As they continued it became darker, and the light had almost gone completely when John Marshal signalled for the column to halt, at the edge of a copse on an upward slope. He dismounted and others followed. ‘This is where we must part company, for once we gain the flat ground on the other side of this rise we’ll be visible from the walls.’ He handed his reins to another knight whom Edwin didn’t know, but who was to be left in charge. ‘We’ll go forward on foot. Wait for us here until dawn. If we haven’t returned by the time it is full light, go back to the main host and tell the lord regent that we’ve failed. In the meantime keep watch for us, and be prepared to ride forward and defend us should the need arise.’

  The other man nodded, wishing him Godspeed.

  John Marshal gestured to Edwin to join him. Edwin found the reins of his horse being taken out of his hand by Sir Reginald, who whispered ‘May the Lord be with you. If He blesses us, we’ll meet again soon.’

  Edwin didn’t trust himself to speak, but moved forward to stand next to John Marshal. Without further ado, he followed as the man set off silently into the darkness ahead.

  Dame Nicola surveyed the castle ward by torchlight. The bombardment had come again during the day, and she was now certain that the curtain wall would come crashing down within three days, four at the most. Many of the crenellations at the top had been blasted away, smashing down into the courtyard, together with the missiles which had hit them, killing and maiming those who had been unlucky enough to get in the way.

  She moved inside the keep to visit the wounded who still survived. In a small room which stank of blood and sweat a number of men lay groaning on pallets, suffering from arrow wounds or from crush injuries. There was very little that could be done for them, other than what had been already: move them out of the way of immediate harm into the strongest building and try to stop their bleeding. There was not even food to give them, although thank the Lord they still had water, else they should all have died weeks ago. Holding her torch high she moved around the room, ostensibly to dispense what comfort she might, but mainly to try and ascertain how many might survive and return to duty. She jumped as an agonised scream came from the next room, but didn’t flinch as it went on and on – another poor devil having a crushed limb removed in a futile attempt to save his life. Occasionally someone survived such surgery but most died, either within hours from the bleeding, or lingering for days before being poisoned by the festering of the stump, even if it had been cauterised. The sizzle of burning flesh accompanied by another shriek told her that this was what was happening now. The scream broke off as the man finally lost consciousness. She sighed. Another one gone – even if he survived, he would be no use for fighting.

  Downcast, she paced back out of the keep. As she reached the night air, welcome after the fetid and blood-soaked space within, one of the garrison ran up to her, panting.

  ‘Dame Nicola!’ He stopped and gasped for breath before continuing. ‘If you please, my lady, Sir Geoffrey asks you to come up to the west wall – someone is approaching over the open ground.’

  Immediately she thrust the torch at him and hurried as fast as her skirts would allow across the ward and up the steps to the west wall. Once at the top she was met by de Serland, who pointed out into the darkness of the countryside.

  ‘Who?’ She was curt. ‘How many?’ Could this be the long-awaited relief force, or was it some new danger from the French? She stared out over the land but could see nothing, despite the fleeting moonlight. The torch she had been carrying had ruined her night sight.

  Fortunately de Serland and the man next to him had been in the darkness for longer.

  ‘It looks as though there are just two men, approaching on foot, my lady.’

  Two? Hardly a relieving force, but presumably not an invading one either, unless this was some sort of trick. She ordered archers to the wall to cover their advance, instructing them crisply not to loose until they were sure that those approaching were enemies.

  In a very short space of time six men were ranged along the wall, bows strung and at the ready, clothyard arrows with vicious hunting barbs nocked. The two figures creeping through the darkness continued to draw nearer, either unaware of the terrible and imminent death which awaited them, or unafraid of it. Before long, they were almost at the wall, where they stopped. Dame Nicola could now make out their shapes.

  A whispered address came from the men outside. ‘Hail, the castle! I know there must be men watching us.’

  Dame Nicola nodded to de Serland, who replied. Around him, the archers tautened their fingers on their bowstrings and flexed their arms. ‘Who are you?’

  The reply was terse. ‘John Marshal, nephew to the lord regent.’

  De Serland stepped back in surprise, but the man without was continuing. ‘For the love of God, open the postern! If the French see us …’

  The knight wasn’t about to fall for that. ‘Open the gate? Are you mad? How do I know you are who you say you are?’

  The whisper came again. ‘Summon Dame Nicola – she and I have met and she will know me. But do it quickly, for all our sakes!’

  De Serland turned to Dame Nicola, a hope dawning in his eyes. She nodded. ‘I do indeed know John Marshal by sight, but I can’t tell from here. We’ll have to risk opening the gate to let them in so I can see for myself. Have men ready.’

  De Serland relayed the message, and she hastened back down the steps.

  Once down she moved towards the small postern which opened out on to the country. Was she about to make a catastrophic mistake? But there seemed genuinely to be only two of them, and at
this stage she was willing to take any chance which might help. Besides, even if there were more of them lurking out there, the postern was so narrow that no more than one or two would be able to get through before they were all skewered with arrows.

  As armed men lined up on either side, with the archers still above them, she watched as the gate was unbarred and then opened. There was a tense moment as the threat of bloody violence hung in the air, and then two men stepped warily through the open doorway. She held her breath.

  As they entered they looked around them and she could see their faces. The one at the front was John Marshal.

  Relief flooded through her body as she stepped forward, ordering the men to stand down and re-bar the gate. She greeted him and made as if to speak further, but discretion prevailed and she ushered him and his companion towards the keep.

  Once installed in her council chamber, she invited them both to sit, along with de Serland. John Marshal looked around. ‘Your son?’

  She would not permit herself the luxury of emotion. ‘Dead.’

  He looked as though he was about to say something, but thankfully he stopped and just nodded – she didn’t think she would be able to stand any sympathy. She had a reputation to maintain and breaking down in public wouldn’t do it much good, so she’d better move on swiftly. She outlined their desperate situation and the lack of time available to them. John Marshal listened intently, nodding and making sharp gestures if she began to explain in too much detail, grasping immediately the importance of what she had to say.

  Once she had finished, she sat back to hear his news. After all this time, hearing finally of the presence of a relief column not ten miles away made her almost weak at the knees. Thank the Lord. She should have known that the regent wouldn’t let such an important stronghold fall to the invaders and traitors. They would band together and drive the French out of the city for good.

  But how was this to be achieved? She nodded to de Serland to join the discussion. As he entered into debate with John Marshal about the possibility or advisability of admitting more men through the postern in order to strengthen the garrison, she looked with some interest at the other man, Marshal’s companion, who had not yet spoken a word. He was a nondescript kind of fellow – except for the reddish hair, she supposed, which wasn’t overly common in these parts – the sort at whom she would normally barely glance. He sat on a stool in the shadows at the edge of the room, some way behind Marshal. She gazed more closely. Who was he? Not a soldier – he didn’t have that aura about him – but not an idle cleric either, for he didn’t have that soft look that one associated with men of inaction.

  As if realising that he was being scrutinised, he looked up and his eyes met hers. She was surprised that he didn’t immediately look away; instead he seemed to be studying her as closely as she was watching him. Insolent fellow! Although he didn’t appear to mean any disrespect, he was merely watching her out of a genuine interest. She dragged her gaze away from him and concentrated on the discussion before her.

  John Marshal was speaking. ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘I’m aware that it’s far from perfect, my lord, but realistically I can’t see any other way to proceed.’

  Marshal made an impatient gesture. ‘But the postern will only admit one or two men at a time. If we were to introduce as many men as we would need to make a difference, it would take us half a day at least. The French will realise what we’re up to long before that, and will be able to pick us off at our leisure while we queue to be admitted. It’s folly.’

  Dame Nicola silently agreed, but she couldn’t see any other way forward. The walls were about to come down and if that happened they would be overrun. The only way was to take the fight out of the castle and into the streets of the city or the open ground outside it. And the only way to do that would be to sally forth from the main gate and attack the enemy in greater numbers than they were expecting. Was there another tactic? A two-pronged attack perhaps, with some men issuing from the castle and others striking from outside?

  John Marshal was a step ahead of her, already mentioning the possibility and then discounting it. ‘It would split our forces too weakly and besides, they could bring their damned mangonels to bear on us as soon as we got within range to the south. No,’ he sighed, ‘there seems to be no other way than to use the postern.’

  She hesitated to mention it, but times were desperate. She looked at de Serland. ‘It’s possible that there may be enough organised resistance in the town to help.’

  Now Marshal looked more interested. She ran through the facts as she knew them: some sort of resistance had been organised in the city; a man of the garrison had somehow managed to contact his brother outside, and the brother had told him that he would bring more details the following night, but he had been killed before he could do so.

  Marshal interrupted. ‘Killed? You know this? He didn’t just fail to turn up?’

  She exchanged glances with de Serland, who answered for her, dryly. ‘His head was catapulted over the wall the next day.’

  A slight retching noise came from the man behind her, but she didn’t turn. She continued. ‘So, yes, we’re fairly sure he was dead.’

  There was silence as the jest fell as flat as it deserved. She hastened to continue. ‘So all we know is what the fellow told his brother. He’ll be able to tell you better than I.’ She opened the door and spoke to the guard without. ‘Have Stephen fetched here.’ He nodded and hurried away.

  Back in the room the air was thick and two of the ever-present flies buzzed around their heads. She offered Marshal wine and at his nod poured him a very small cup, for their stocks were low. She didn’t offer him food, for there was none to spare, and he’d probably eaten more recently than they had anyway.

  Eventually the guard ushered Stephen into the room. He clutched his hat in his hands, turning and twisting it, as they all looked at him.

  ‘Well? Tell us of your brother, Alan.’ She gestured at John Marshal. ‘Tell him.’

  The man’s face became even more ashen. ‘He didn’t tell me much, my Lady, only that something was afoot in the city which was of importance, which would help. He had been told to go that night to the house of William the nephew of Warner, the mayor, and to knock in a particular fashion so they knew it was him. Then he would discover more, and he would come to tell me.’ The tortured twisting of the hat intensified. 'I never saw him again – not until …’

  He looked as though he would break down, which would not do, so she dismissed him with a wave of her hand, bidding him wait until she called him again, and he fled.

  John Marshal turned immediately to the other man.

  ‘Good. This is how we’ll proceed, then: I’ll go back to my lord regent now, telling him that we can wait three days at the most. We’ll make ready to bring men forward in order to push them one by one through the postern. They’ll be here a couple of hours after sunrise the day after tomorrow. In the meantime, you’ll go into the town and see what you can discover of this resistance. You’ll report back here before dawn in two days, and if you’ve found anything of use you’ll come back out as quickly as you can and let us know. I’ll leave some men to cover your retreat in case the French see you.’

  No wonder he was such a useful man for the regent to have around, thought Dame Nicola. No delays, no qualms. All that pent-up energy. If she were thirty years younger …

  The other man was nodding and rising, still without speaking, but he hesitated and turned to Marshal. ‘If I may, my lord?’ He received a nod of permission, and moved forward to murmur something that Dame Nicola didn’t quite catch.

  Marshal nodded once. ‘A good thought. I’ll see what I can do. Now, I bid you Godspeed, and hope we will meet again in the next two days.’

  With that he was already striding out of the room. Dame Nicola followed to bid him farewell at the postern. Her curiosity was piqued. ‘Who is he?’

  Marshal paused in his advance. ‘A spy, a man of Warenne’
s.’

  Now she was taken aback. ‘Warenne? Surrey? Has he re-joined us? I didn’t know he would be with the host.’

  He made a derisive noise. ‘He isn’t. He tried to join but others were wary. This is his way of attempting to curry favour with the lord regent. Apparently this man is one of the best, so if he can help us, Warenne will be welcomed back to the fold.’

  She spoke sombrely. ‘A heavy burden for the man to carry.’

  Marshal nodded as a soldier began unbarring the postern. ‘Aye. And we will see what results from it.’ He moved out of the gate. ‘Until two days hence, then.’ He slipped into the darkness as the gate closed behind him.

  Up in the council chamber Edwin’s heart seemed to be running all over his body, and he looked uncertainly at the knight who remained with him. He didn’t know what to say and wasn’t sure he’d be able to get any words out anyway, but the knight assumed control and spoke briskly.

  ‘Now, we must see about the best way of getting you into the city. Come.’

  He led Edwin out of the room and across the ward, calling as he did so for a man to bring rope. Edwin was so frightened he barely heard anything, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other without stumbling, but he was brought up short by that one word. Rope?

  They ascended the wall at one edge of the ward, and once at the top the knight spoke again. ‘There’s not much time, but I’ll give you as many details as I can. We can’t let you out of the main gate, for the French are directly in front of it and you’ll be seen for certain. This is the north-east tower of the castle – see how it’s shaped like a horse-shoe, and remember it. Look down to both sides to see where you are.’

  Edwin complied as the knight pointed to the left. ‘Over there, the north wall. The alley down there should be fairly safe once you’re in it. The French don’t patrol there as it’s too close to our walls, and nobody can come from the other side as the great west gate is blocked.’ He moved around to Edwin’s other side and pointed to the right. ‘Over there, the east side of the castle. You’ll see that they’ve razed the houses over there to create an open space. I’m sure they mean to besiege us from that quarter as well once they get the chance, but at the moment they can’t, as their forces would be stretched too thinly. They patrol the area occasionally. If you can avoid them you should be able to get across to the remaining houses and that will give you cover.’