Wolf Wood (Part Two): The Dangerous years

by Mike Dixon

  William's men were getting the better of the conflict. Some of their opponents lay dead. Others had fled to their horses. Three knights had been taken prisoner. In the distance, a second wave of French was preparing to charge.

  William came to the gate and began to parlay with someone through an opening. Alice guessed the other person was Robin. From the way William was gesticulating, it seemed he was not getting his way. She guessed he wanted the gate opened. If it remained shut, he and his men would have to face up to a much larger force and have nowhere to flee.

  Would Robin leave him to his fate?

  That would solve one problem and create others. Guy would hunt down Robin if anything happened to his son. In the event, it seemed that Robin was prepared to take that risk. The gate remained shut and William returned to his men and formed them into a tight defensive arc.

  On the wall above the gate, a gunnery sergeant signalled to his men. Archers crouched beside slits. Others prepared to shoot down through the embrasures at the top of the wall.

  A trumpet blew and the French charged. The knights came forward in a compact mass of armoured man and armoured horse. Alice saw cannons brought forward. If the charging horsemen saw them, it was now too late. Once started, their sort of manoeuvre was impossible to reverse.

  At a hundred paces, the gunners stood poised with their smouldering cords. All now depended on the powder. A batch had deteriorated and Robin had expressed concern about it. If the present batch was defective, William was doomed and Guy's fury would know no mercy.

  At fifty paces, the gunners applied their cords and the cannons fired. A hail of grapeshot cut through the air and reduced the charging ranks to a mess of flaying hooves and shattered bodies. The archers on the walls let fly with a few shots but were not needed. The first wave of attackers had been devastated.

  But the fighting was not over. As a few survivors limped back to the French lines, another wave of attackers was unleashed. This time, the postern gate was opened and the captives were bundled through. The archers on the wall put down a hail of fire. More French fell and the whole bloody episode finally came to an end when William's men retreated into the City.

  On the other side of the wall, a French horseman approached under a white flag. Alice saw the postern gate open and a similar flag emerge. It was carried by Robin. He advanced towards the Frenchman and they began to parley. Robin returned and stretcher bearers came out from the French lines to care for their dead and injured.

  ***

  Harald waited for Commander Gough to return from the guardhouse. He wondered if he was under suspicion. William was his nephew and he had flaunted Gough's authority. Footsteps on the stairs caused him to stiffen. The commander entered and slumped on a bench with his back to the wall. He looked tired. Over twenty years campaigning had taken a toll on his health. He waited to catch his breath before speaking.

  'He's a fine young man you brought here.'

  Harald could hardly believe his ears. His mind was on William. It was the last thing he expected to hear. Then he realised the commander was talking about Robin.

  'Perry restored order with two shots. If it had not been for him, the situation would have got completely out of hand.'

  'You mean when he shot those men?'

  'Aye. He took decisive action when others were too scared to challenge those upstarts. But for him we could have lost control. I've questioned witnesses and they all give the same account.'

  'There was a confrontation with my nephew.'

  'Aye. Perry told him he would have to stay out there as bait for the French. There were cannon waiting to slice them up. He said they'd have to hold out as best they could.'

  'That would not have ingratiated him with William.'

  'No. It did not,' the commander chuckled. 'He was foaming at the mouth when I questioned him. I've rarely seen such rage in a human being.'

  Commander Gough paused, waiting for a response. Harald hated to speak about his family. For a while he had been free of them. Now they had invaded his life again. Mercifully, his father had died of his wounds. But Guy and William were still hanging around. Eventually, he found words.

  'My ... my nephew is possessed by devils.' His stutter returned. 'It is the curse of my family. We lived in a place called Wolf Wood and have come to behave like the beast.'

  'You are surly not speaking about yourself.'

  'I don't know.' Harald placed his head in his hands. 'My whole life has been spent trying to get away from them. No matter what I do ... I cannot shake them off.'

  'You stand to inherit a lot of money now that your father is dead. He owns property in Bordeaux and you are his eldest son and heir.'

  'Aye,' Harald sighed. 'That is my curse.'

  'In what way?'

  'As eldest son, I stand in the way of my younger brother.'

  'You mean Guy?'

  'Aye. He has lost a fortune in England. He will have his eyes on the Bordeaux estate.'

  The commander nodded thoughtfully then seemed to change the subject. 'Before your father died, he asked to speak to me. I went to his bed and found him quite lucid. He told the others to go then began to talk about the future. Do you know what he said?'

  Harald shook his head.'

  'When the time comes to put down those traitors in Westminster, use the army. Don't let the common people get involved or it will work out like last time.'

  Harald nodded. 'That sounds like him. He would have been referring to the Wat Tyler rebellion.'

  'I think he was encouraging me to join the Duke of York in Dublin and bring pressure on Council. I think that was what he intended to do. What do you think?'

  'It's the sort of way his mind worked.'

  Harald guessed the commander was sounding out his views. Since the subject was the overthrow of the government, he felt cautious about expressing any firm opinion. He sensed the commanded felt the same way.

  His next question was equally searching.

  'Don't you think it would be better to increase the powers of parliament and give it more say in the running of the country, like in the Hansa cities? They are run by an elected mayor and corporation. It could perhaps be possible to run an entire country like that.'

  'I've no problem with increasing the powers of parliament and making it more representative,' Harald replied guardedly. 'But England is not a Hansa city and cannot be run as if it were. I know people who believe that such a thing is possible. They think that power would devolve into the hands of merchants, masons, lawyers and other people of skill and education … and they are mistaken.'

  'What do you think would happen?'

  'Power would be seized by people like my brother Guy.'

  'We think alike, Harald.'

  Matthew Gough rose to his feet. Harald concluded that he had got the answer he expected and was merely checking to see that they were of the same mind. His next question came as a surprise.

  'What does Robin Perry think?'

  'His views are the same as mine. Indeed, I have been influenced by him. Robin was forced to serve with my brother and saw what the irregular bands can do. They are a law unto themselves when government brakes down. They carve out fiefdoms and set themselves up as lords. Cities that were once administered by a mayor and corporation are now ruled by illiterate cut-throats who can barely speak the language of the people.'

  'Is this what Robin Perry says?'

  'Aye. They could be his very words.'

  'Very well.' Mathew Gough nodded thoughtfully. 'We have work for him. I sense mutiny in our ranks. We need someone to sniff it out.'

  ***

  Robin sauntered into the hostelry and gave Guy an archers' salute. They had exchanged a few words in the guardhouse when William was released. To his surprise, Guy treated the whole incident as a joke, saying it would teach William a lesson. Robin guessed that Guy wanted to make friends with him ... if friend was the right word.

  Guy didn't have friends. He had partners and companions-in-arms. Th
e partners stayed partners so long as there was something in it for Guy. The companions were people who served under Guy and did as they were told. Robin decided that he would be a partner.

  'What's your poison?'

  Guy pointed to an array of flagons and wineskins. Robin chose beer. You could drink a lot without getting sloshed. Staying sober was important if you were to remember what was said and not say too much yourself.

  'Take a seat.'

  Guy indicated a place at a table. It was like Guy ... telling people what to do … establishing a pecking order. Robin did as he was told. Letting Guy think he was the dominant male was part of the act.

  'You gave Will a bit of a scare,' Guy chuckled, 'thought he was going to be fed to the Frogs.'

  The table dissolved in laughter.

  'That'll learn him,' someone said. 'Teach him to show more respect for an officer.'

  There was more laughter. Robin glanced to where William was standing and saw the expression of pure hatred on his scarred face.

  'He wasn't scared. We had it all worked out,' Robin lied. 'We had to shut that gate so the Frogs would think there was still a chance to rescue the prisoners. Will and his boys gave them a thrashing. Did you see how they went back to get more prisoners?'

  'A toast to the Noble Company.'

  Robin raised his tankard and started a chant.

  'Will! … Will! ... Will!'

  On the far side of the room, William watched him coldly. There was no way of knowing what went on in his mind. Robin could only assume that the thoughts were hostile.

  William was good at tactics but hopeless at strategy. Guy was the one who thought into the future. If you read William's mind you would learn what he intended to do next day. See into Guy's mind and you would discover what he was planning for next year. Guy was the one to cuddle up to. It didn't matter what William thought so long as the bastard didn't get it into his head to kill you.

  'The Frogs is bringing up a whole lot of cannon,' someone said. 'They've got some big ones. They'll start bombarding when they've got 'em in place.'

  'The big ones came from our foundries in Calais.' Robin seized the opportunity to heap scorn on the hated Beauforts. 'They were part of what Somerset left behind when he surrendered Rouen. He could have spiked them but he left 'em for the Frogs to use against us.'

  The Duke of Somerset, otherwise known as Edmund Beaufort, had spent years as a prisoner of the French and was suspected of having French sympathies. Spiking was achieved by packing a cannon with gunpowder and blowing it to pieces.

  'That's right Rob, someone said. 'We've been let down by fuckin traitors. We can beat the Frogs any day if we're not stabbed in the back by people who are meant to be our leaders. You and Will showed 'em what we can do …'

  Robin sensed that the company was warming to him. That was a good first step. He wouldn't hurry things. Matthew Gough wasn't going to surrender Bayeux in a hurry. There would be plenty of time to find out what Guy and his partners were planning.

  Chapter 9

  Siege

  Tears formed in Henriette's eyes. She hated to see Robin in armour. It was the dress of butchery and death. It was bad enough to blow the enemy to pieces with cannons. To go out beyond the walls and hack at them with swords and axes was even worse.

  She was with him on the City wall and the siege was in its third week. The French were keeping up a relentless barrage of cannon fire which had reduced whole sections of the wall to rubble. Every so often, they mounted an attack and tried to force an entry through the holes they had made.

  Covered trenches reached out from their lines. They could hide in these and the defenders wouldn't know they were there. That meant they could attack at any time and without warning, which made it so tiring.

  Robin and his men were sleeping in their armour. He said that was usual on campaigns. Your gear took so long to put on. You would be dead before you had done up the last buckle. They were thankful to have a roof over their heads. On campaigns they often slept in the open with nothing more than a sheet of canvas to keep them dry. Armour rusted and horrible sores developed on their bodies.

  Henriette was now living in a convent, requisitioned by the army. The dining hall had been converted into an infirmary. Alice worked as a healer while she cared for children orphaned in the fighting.

  Alice had not seen Harald for almost a week. He lodged in the castle with Commander Gough. Robin slept in the guardhouse, or what was left of it. He looked tired and his eyes were bloodshot.

  'Do you have to go?'

  It was a pointless question but she had to ask it for the sake of the children.

  'We have to get to those cannons before they can do more damage.' He held her tight. 'I'm sorry, my love. It won't be long now. When this is all over, we'll go back to England. I've got it all worked out.'

  Henriette wondered if they would ever see England again. Thinking about the future was too hard. Best to take each day as it came. Today was likely to be a replay of yesterday. The English cannon would spray the French with all manner of missiles. They had balls packed with grapeshot, balls fastened together with chains and stone balls that disintegrated on impact. Bowmen would let fly with arrows and incendiary bombs would be lobbed by trebuchets.

  There was one of the gigantic catapults on a patch of waste land. The gunnery crew had wound down the huge arm and were standing well clear while the gunner made final adjustments. The weight at the end of the arm was made from lead, stripped from the roof of a local church at the start of the siege. When it fell, the other end swung up with so much force it could hurl a man three hundred paces. William had shown that when answering a French demand for the return of prisoners.

  It was a nasty brutal war and getting worse with each passing day, despite the efforts of those who wanted to put an end to the carnage. Alice was insisting that French wounded be treated in the infirmary and Robin was negotiating with his counterpart on the French side for an exchange of wounded prisoners. There was something horribly ironic about the whole awful business. At the end of each session of butchery, both men would go out under cover of a white flag wondering if the other was still alive and in a fit state to parlay.

  Priests were shuffling back and forth between the two sides trying to organise a truce. Robin said it wasn't going to happen. The French would gain nothing from an end to the fighting. Their forces were poised to take the last of the English strongholds in Normandy. They weren't going to ease up now. They were insisting on nothing less than total surrender and Commander Gough wasn't going to agree to that unless he got much better terms than they were offering. For the moment, there would be no let up.

  According to the rules of war, cities that refused to surrender and were taken by storm could expect no mercy. The victorious troops were free to plunder, kill and destroy. That's what happened when Caen was taken by the English thirty years earlier. King Henry ordered a massacre of the entire population, condemning them all as traitors. The memory of that appalling incident weighed heavily on everyone's mind. Robin said the French were anxious to avoid a repetition. Henriette hoped that was the view of the people in command ... not just those with whom he was negotiating.

  Henriette gave him a final kiss and watched him go. He seemed heavy of heart. That was not a good way to go into battle. She wondered if she should have stayed at home and not sought him out.

  ***

  Robin ducked the beams as he was carried into the hostelry to the cheers of the archers. He and William were the heroes of the day. They had used the trebuchet to lob a big barrel of gunpowder into the French lines. It was William's idea. He drew diagrams of how the barrel was to be reinforced and devised a special fuse. Robin arranged for blacksmiths to fit the barrel with strong iron bands and had the fuse made.

  The trebuchet crew placed the missile in a nest of French cannon. The outcome exceeded all expectations. The barrel crashed down into the soft ground, throwing up mud. They saw the French peering into the hole. They see
med to think it some sort of joke. Then, an earth-shattering explosion sent men and cannons high into the air.

  William said it was the iron bands that did it. People thought he put them there to stop the barrel from disintegrating on impact. He said they had a more important purpose. They confined the explosive gases and magnified the blast. Robin had come to think of William as a mindless thug. Now he saw him differently. Part of William's mind thought very clearly and that was the part to fear.

  For a while, the French had been totally demoralised by the devastating blast. They abandoned their forward positions and made little attempt to stop the English from capturing valuable supplies, including casks of wine. They had lobbed a barrel of gunpowder at the French and returned with barrels of wine. That little triumph seemed to count for more than anything else.

  'Rob! … Rob! … Rob!'

  The archers set up a chant as they put him down.

  Robin said the praise should go to William. He had designed the new super-weapon. He and the trebuchet crew were the ones they should be cheering.

  He grabbed a tankard.

  'To William Gascoigne. A true patriot!'

  The toast was drunk with the usual noise. Robin watched as another of the French casks was tapped. A mug was filled and handed to an archer who scoffing the lot before saying it was no good.

  'This Frog's piss ain't up to our English from Bordeaux.'

  The man evidently thought of Bordeaux as English. The people living there didn't see themselves that way. Robin had been there and knew about their history. The citizens of Bordeaux called themselves Gascons. The name dated back to Roman times when they were called Vascons and lumped together with the Basques who were also known by that name. From the way things were going, the Gascons would soon have to think of themselves as French.