by C. B. Hanley
Master Michael acknowledged him with a gracious nod, and raised his arm in farewell.
Sir Gilbert watched Edwin run, but didn’t follow. No doubt he wanted some time to himself to take in all that had happened. He turned to Fitzwalter, of whom he had heard but who he had never met. He indicated that the captured knight should walk with him.
‘Is there anyone to whom you would like to send a message?’
Fitzwalter nodded gratefully. ‘To my wife, if you please. If you would be so kind as to fix my ransom then I can also inform her of that so that she may begin raising the money.’
‘I am not sure yet whether you will be permitted to remain in my custody or whether his grace the king will insist on all prisoners being made over to him. Until we know, you may remain my guest if you will give me your word that you will not try to escape.’
Fitzwalter nodded and held out his hand. ‘I give you my word.’
Gilbert shook it. ‘Good. Now, walk with me a while and tell me how you came to be here and what happened.’
They began to amble in no particular direction, their steps taking them round the outside of the cathedral. Fitzwalter ran his hand through his hair as he began to speak. ‘As to how I’m here – well, the Lord only knows. It seemed so clear that we didn’t want John as king any longer, so I agreed to oppose him, but somehow this turned into having the French as our allies and by then it was too late to back out. I only wanted what was best for the realm.’
Gilbert raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
‘And so here we were, trying to break down those strong castle walls before the regent could get to us – how in God’s name did he get here so quickly with such a host? It was I who saw you approaching, so I fetched Saer de Quincey and we rode out to watch. We thought you not too numerous and wanted to attack you over the open ground, but de Quincey thought we’d better ask the comte de Perche. I rode back to find him, and by the time we came outside the city again, you’d started to muster on the ridge. I urged him to attack you while you were out on the open ground, as I thought we could destroy you before you even came near to the city.’
He became more animated. ‘I thought I would be able to participate in a true knightly pitched battle. Such occasions happen so rarely that they are bound to go down in history – minstrels would sing of the deeds. There would be glory and fame to be won. How much better to fight like that than in the cramped streets of the city …’ His eyes shone as he gestured, but then he looked at Gilbert and stopped.
‘But I digress. Anyway, as we watched you forming up, your second force came into view over the ridge, waving more banners. The breeze had dropped again so it was impossible to see who they were, but there were certainly a goodly number. De Quincey started to lose some of his enthusiasm.’
He stopped and turned. ‘The comte continued to watch the new arrivals for a few moments more, making some calculations; then he spoke, saying that you were too numerous, and that it would be folly to attack you out on the open ground – we would be surrounded. So he said we would return to the city and make ready to defend ourselves there. I was disappointed, but the decision was the correct one once we’d seen how many men you had. Attacking a superior force like that in the open would be suicide, and I wasn’t so keen to take part in a pitched battle that I wanted to lose my life in it. So we turned our horses and returned to the city. And of course now I wish we had charged out in the open.’
Gilbert looked at him. ‘Truly? Even though now we will throw the French pretender off our shores, and the true king can reign?’
‘Well, when you put it like that …’
Gilbert almost allowed himself to smile. It was the first time in many hours and it made his face hurt. ‘Come. We will return to my men and I will have a messenger dispatched to your wife.’
Once the arrangements had been put in place, Gilbert returned Fitzwalter to his men, bidding them help him disarm, and summoned Richard, his most senior sergeant. While he was waiting for the man to arrive he had his squire disarm him. All his muscles were screaming at him, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep until tomorrow, but there were more important matters to attend to. Leaving the boy to sort out the bloodied armour and equipment, he satisfied himself with a draught of wine from a skin as he waited for Richard to arrive. When he appeared, Gilbert issued brisk instructions to him to send a party of men to the house in the Drapery, some to bring back Reginald’s body and some to stay and guard the house until the morrow. He also issued a command that a carpenter be commandeered in order to make a coffin as soon as possible.
Richard was a man of few words, but he took in all the instructions, nodded and turned to leave. Gilbert stopped him. ‘Oh, and while you’re about it, send someone to find young Edwin and bring him back here safely. I don’t want him getting in any more trouble.’
Looking at his sergeant’s departing back, Gilbert took a last swig from the wineskin, handed it to a nearby man, and set off to find John Marshal.
He encountered him on the other side of the cathedral, overseeing his men as they sorted through the piles of goods and treasure which he had evidently captured. He smiled thinly at Gilbert. ‘Maybe not enough to make up for being a bastard, but a pretty good haul all the same, eh?’
Gilbert ran his eyes over the goods. There was certainly plenty there, and a very small part of him wished he could have made similar gains. But he had been about more weighty matters, so there was no use sighing over it. He got straight to the point. ‘My lord, I crave your permission to leave the city tomorrow to return Reginald’s body to his family.’
Marshal nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘And if I may, I will take the man Edwin with me and return him to my lord the Earl of Surrey.’
Marshal thought for a moment and then nodded again, more slowly this time. ‘Yes. He has done well and deserves to return home in safety. And Warenne will no doubt do well out of this. I will ask my lord the Earl of Chester what message you may take to Warenne, but I would imagine that he will be welcome to join the king’s party once more.’
It still hurt his face, but he couldn’t help it. Gilbert smiled.
Edwin didn’t know who the man was, but he followed him anyway, and was rather dazed when he was led back to Sir Gilbert. He didn’t know what to think, but on facing the knight one thing was uppermost in his mind. His fingers slipped as he tried to loose the scabbard from his belt, but he managed it eventually and held the dagger out, the words tumbling from his lips. ‘It was his. He said he would leave it with me until after the fighting was over, but now I need to give it back, so you must have it.’
Sir Gilbert looked at him long and hard, but Edwin didn’t drop his gaze. ‘Please, take it from me.’ His hand was starting to shake.
The knight spoke. ‘No, you should keep it.’
Edwin opened his mouth but was forestalled. ‘I was his brother in arms, so his military fortune, which is not much, comes to me. The dagger is now mine, and I say you should keep it.’
Edwin stood, still holding the weapon out rather forlornly, but the knight took it from him and belted it back around his waist. ‘Keep it in remembrance of him, and of this day.’
Edwin nodded. There didn’t seem to be much else to say.
Sir Gilbert continued more briskly. ‘Now, tomorrow we will leave, and after returning Reginald’s body to his family we will travel to see your lord and tell him the news.’
‘News?’ Edwin’s mind was still dulled.
‘Yes, the news. You have succeeded in your task, the battle is won and the great lords are reconciled. The earl will no doubt be pleased and will wish to give you some reward.’
Edwin shook his head and thought of graves, and of missed opportunities. ‘There is nothing I need – nothing that he can bestow, anyway.’
‘Money? A home for your mother?’
Edwin hadn’t thought of that. A tiny shard of brightness pierced the clouds which were fogging his mind. Yes, he was
alive and he would see his mother again. And …
Sir Gilbert seemed to have an uncanny knack for reading his thoughts today. ‘We’ll leave one hour after dawn, but perhaps you would like to be the one who goes down at first light to tell my men in the Drapery of this.’
Edwin tried to smile, but he didn’t think he’d ever be able to again.
She was surrounded by panicking women. Along with many others she’d fled southwards with as many of her possessions as she could carry, down to the river. There, many of the women had taken to boats, thinking they would be safe from attack once they were out on the water. But the river was fast flowing, and the boats were difficult to control as they span and eddied through the water. There were now soldiers fleeing the city, the French and their allies. She couldn’t believe how it had all gone so wrong. She and Gervase had thought there would be no chance of rescue so they’d happily sided with the invaders, hoping this would ensure them better treatment when they controlled the castle as well as the city. Indeed, they’d gone further and tried to stop those who wanted to work against the invaders. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Nicholas Holland was one of these, so she’d started to pay him special attention, bringing food for his family, letting him think that she might let her Gervase marry that daughter of his. She almost laughed at the thought – her beautiful boy allying himself with the likes of her! She wasn’t nearly good enough for him, and neither was anyone else. She alone knew him, knew what was best for him. But anyway, she was aware that Nicholas Holland and his cronies were up to something, but despite her best efforts at wheedling and cooking meals for his family, she couldn’t find out.
They’d grown more desperate; they couldn’t find out what the insurgents were doing, so they agreed on a secondary plan – at all costs they had to stop any message reaching the garrison. Gervase had killed the man who was to have been the contact and handed the body over to the French, and she herself had followed Nicholas that fateful night and had struck him down. But she hadn’t hit him hard enough and he’d survived long enough to pass the message on to his blasted children. Gervase had taken the boy Nick and they had tried their best to extract the information from him, but he was loyal to his father, damn him.
But what son wouldn’t be? She was so proud of hers. Her hope now was that they would both live through this day and that they could return to their lives in the city with nobody any the wiser. There would be opportunities in the ruined town for those clever enough to take them; together they would become rich and successful.
As she thought fondly of her son, she became aware that the boat was rocking dangerously. There was nobody in it who knew how to control it, and many of the other women were panicking and throwing themselves about, which was just making matters worse. She shouted at them to stop, but they were in the grip of terror and couldn’t hear her. She tried to hold on, but the boat swayed ever more dangerously and the shrieking rose in pitch. She started to panic and thrash about, hearing herself scream as she desperately tried to hold on to the boat and her bag of possessions at the same time. The rocking became more violent and finally the boat tipped up. She scrabbled frantically to hold onto the side but she couldn’t, and she was thrown into the cold water.
The shock made her numb. She couldn’t swim; none of them could. She thrashed her arms and legs uncontrollably, her heavy clothes weighing her down and trying to pull her under. In a desperate attempt to stay afloat she dropped her bag and watched it sink, taking all her wealth with it. But it was no use, the water was in her mouth and nose, choking her, and her last thoughts as she sank were of her beloved son, and the successful future which awaited him. Then the black waters closed over her and claimed her, and she thought no more.
Epilogue
It was just after dawn. Edwin sat in the kitchen of the house, looking at Alys and the children. A bright fire burned in the hearth, and the furniture had been put straight again. Four soldiers had stood guard throughout the night, and no harm had come to any. They and their shattered city were safe, although the price had been high.
They sat in silence, he looking at her and she at him. At last Alys roused herself and gave the children some bread and water. ‘Take this out to the men with our thanks. Tell them we’re sorry we have nothing better, but we hope they will take it to line their bellies before the start of the journey.’
All three children slipped out without a word, and then they were alone. Edwin took a step forwards. He reached out his arm, raised his shaking hand until it nearly touched her, but let it drop. There was so much he wanted to say, but how could he? He could make her no promises, for he was the earl’s man and bound to do as he was commanded.
She too held out her hand, paused, and then laid it very lightly on his arm. ‘Words are not enough to say what we all owe to you, but for what it’s worth, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.’ Her eyes, as blue as the summer sky, met his for a long moment. Slowly, very slowly, he brought up his hand and put it on top of hers for the lightest, briefest moment. Then, as the children returned, they stepped away from each other and he turned and left the house.
Historical Note
The Battle of Lincoln took place on Saturday, 20 May 1217. It is normally referred to as the Second Battle of Lincoln, in order to distinguish it from the earlier encounter which took place there in 1141.
Towards the end of King John’s reign, the nobility of England had rebelled against him and invited Prince Louis, the son of the king of France (later Louis VIII), who was married to John’s niece, to invade and take the crown. However, during this invasion John died unexpectedly, leaving as his heir his nine-year-old son, Henry III. This caused many of the barons to undergo a change of heart, and by early 1217 many of the lords had defected back to the Royalist party, which was led by William Marshal, the regent, and by the Earl of Chester. However, Louis still had the support of a number of English nobles, as well as the French lords who had invaded with him, and his army was in control of most of eastern England. One of the most important strongholds in the region was Lincoln.
In 1217, Lincoln was one of the largest cities in England; a bustling and prosperous place whose wealth was built upon the wool trade. Wool and cloth had been exported from here to Flanders for many years, and the weavers of Lincoln had established a guild as early as 1130. Most of the people who lived in the city would have been engaged in some kind of trade, rather than being involved in the agricultural work which characterised rural areas of the country. The basic unit of currency – and the only coin in general use – was the silver penny, which could be cut into halves or quarters for small change. Twelve pennies made up one shilling; twenty shillings made one pound, and thirteen shillings and four pence, one mark. Cloth was measured either in yards (36 inches) or, for larger quantities, in ells (45 inches), and one may surmise that those who bought and sold goods must have had a good grasp of some fairly complex arithmetic.
Among the citizens of Lincoln in the early thirteenth century, according to the town’s records, were William the nephew of Warner, who served several terms as mayor; Peter of the Bridge; Peter of the Bail; Ralf the son of Lefwine; and Master Michael, the master mason in charge of the cathedral works. Nicholas Holland and his family are fictional (although a ‘Nicholas the son of Gunnilda’ was living in Lincoln in the early thirteenth century), as are Mistress Guildersleeve, Gervase and Aldred. It was unusual at the time for anyone other than the nobility to have a hereditary surname: any second name which differentiated people with the same first name was likely to be either patronymic (‘son of’), locative (‘of Conisbrough’) or occupational (‘the baker’). However, some people were known by nicknames or by the names of their ancestors if they had been particularly noteworthy individuals, and it was about this time that some of those names started to become hereditary. Edwin’s surprise at being called by his father’s name is only to be expected, but the practice would become less unusual as the years went by.
The medieval city of
Lincoln occupied a hill, with the castle at the top and the river at the bottom. The castle was originally built by William the Conqueror, on the site of a Roman fort, and consisted of two fortified mounds with a large bailey encircled by walls. It was in a prime position: to the south the defenders could command the steep descent towards the river, and to the west they could look out over the valley of the Trent and the highway. The castle had two principal gateways: one in the east wall (which is still in use) and the other to the west, giving access to the open country.
In 1217 the castle was under the stewardship of Dame Nicola de la Haye, a remarkable woman whose life story is worthy of a book of its own. She was the hereditary castellan, succeeding to her father’s lands and duties after his death sometime around 1170. Although legally subordinate to her husband (she married twice) she played an unusually active role in running her own affairs. Indeed, on the two occasions when the castle needed defending she was in sole charge: her husband was absent during the siege of 1191, when the castle held out for forty days and nights against attack, and he died in 1215 before the events of The Bloody City took place. They had a son, Richard de Camville, who died in the spring of 1217, although there is no evidence to suggest that this was due to the invasion.
The city of Lincoln was not prepared for the large-scale attack which fell upon it in the spring of that year, and it capitulated quickly to the invading army. The castle, however, with its separate defences, managed to hold out. William Marshal knew that such a strategically important stronghold could not be left to fall into the hands of the invaders, so he gathered a force. They mustered at Newark before marching to the city via Torksey, to avoid using the main road which would have brought them directly into the path of the French.