by Dan Davis
How in the name of God will I know how many miles I am from the coast, I wondered.
“Perfectly clear, Your Grace,” I said, bowing.
In the end, it was a disappointingly routine duty and though we ran off a few local squires, we rode through a quiet and empty country. Anyone with any sense had long since fled far from our advancing army and even the fools hid in the woods and dells and ditches at our approach.
Behind my company, the English army advanced in a broad front stretching from the coast deep inland, and they burned every house, barn, outhouse and field so that the sky was filled with smoke. We ignored every walled town, other than to burn their crops and suburbs to the ground, other than a small place called Etaples which was quickly taken, sacked, and then burned. Every market town and tiny village in our line of advance was turned to charcoal and smoke. When the army reached the settlement of Wissant, where I had expected we would embark for England, we instead destroyed it utterly.
Ten miles further up the coast was the small port town of Calais. It was well-known for two things. The first being that the place was a damned nest of pirates and the second that its people reeked of herring.
And yet it would be hard to imagine a small town that was better defended than Calais. As it was so close to the border of Flanders, it had become the stoutest fortress in the area. The first element in its favour was the fact it was surrounded by water. On the north side was the harbour and between that and the town was a wall, a moat and a fortified dyke. The other three sides had walls and a wide double moat. Beyond the moat was a marsh that teemed with fowl and wading birds but was sodden, boggy and crossed by rivers and tidal inundations. A dangerous place to cross even for locals and the marshland was vast. The approach to the town was by causeways that were anything but trustworthy.
The town itself was a perfect rectangle of high walls and the massive castle in the north-west corner was separated from the town by even more walls, moats and ditches. What is more, the place was well garrisoned and stocked with vast stores, because it existed in constant readiness for a siege by the Flemings, who wanted more than anything to take the place for themselves but never had the resources or the courage to make the attempt.
And it was Calais, of all bloody places, that King Edward decided to take.
6. The Lady Cecilia
“It’s the Flemish, ain’t it,” Black Walt said, picking gristle out of his teeth. “Everyone knows.”
The leading men of my company sat at the table in my newly built home in the English camp outside Calais which had been named Villeneuve-la-Hardie in early summer 1347.
We had been besieging Calais for nine months and, in fact, to call Villeneuve a camp was rather absurd. It had become a town and a fortification as grand as any in England, outside of London. Villeneuve had a population of over ten thousand men, and hundreds or perhaps even thousands of women. In the cold autumn, we had dug our defences all around Calais to defend ourselves from assault by any French forces coming up from Paris to relieve the siege. Within our own lines, we built the temporary town.
We knew we would be there for a long time and so considerable effort was made to ensure we could pass the ravages of winter in some sort of comfort. The King had a quite considerable mansion of two storeys built from massive timbers and the great lords each attempted to outdo the other with their own homes around the royal residence.
Not simply grand homes but we also had market halls, public buildings, bathhouses, stables and thousands of hovels thrown up the soldiers made from whatever brushwood and reeds they could bring in from the land all around. We cut down every tree and bush for miles in every direction.
We had in effect created a new and vast English town that happened to be located in France. But ten thousand men could not survive for long on the countryside thereabouts, bountiful though it was. Supplies came from England by a steady stream of ships bringing fuel, food, ale, and everything else needed by a town and an army. Much of it was landed up the coast at Gravelines and then brought overland from Flanders. My company had been active over the months by patrolling that route and escorting the supplies because the French attempted time and again to cut us off. Whenever we were given leave to do so, we raided deep into the French lands.
Even so, I could find little trace of the knight with the black banner.
Our new town sucked supplies from all across England via the ports of the south in hundreds of ships. It was a town that housed some of the richest and hungriest men of England and the meat markets and the cloth markets of Villeneuve were as well stocked as any in the region. We were maintained in our position only by an enormous effort of support by our people. The English were proud of us and willed us toward the victory that would come from taking Calais for England.
Before the full depths of winter struck, we made an attempt to storm the town. I had urged those lords who would listen to me that we should simply take the place so we could spend the winter within the walls rather than without. And I believed that a victory would free me to take up active search for the blood drinking knight.
“How would you suggest we do it?” Northampton had asked me, scoffing. “The land is waterlogged so we cannot undermine the walls. Breaking them would take months anyway, even with the largest trebuchets.”
It amused me to be so condescended by young men who had a fraction of my experience. “We storm them,” I had said, shrugging at their concerns. “Our men are well rested now. We make hundreds of long ladders and make a rush on the place from all directions. Our archers would be up them in no time.”
“The archers?” Northampton had cried, appalled.
In the end, the King listened to me but he also heeded the warnings of his faithful lords, who convinced him that a complicated plan to take the town from the seaward side would be most likely to succeed. They arranged dozens of small vessels to be packed with me and with huge ladders. The assault failed.
Then they built the trebuchets that Northampton and the others demanded and they even brought over a dozen cannon. For weeks and then months they chipped away at the walls but there was hardly any effect. We received an influx of fresh men before Christmas, when it was getting icy, but the half-hearted attempts to storm the walls all failed. By the time of the deep freeze at the end of February, we had entirely given up and all settled in and waited for the townsfolk to starve.
There were some of us who wondered what all this great effort was for. Was Calais really worth it? We accepted that taking Paris was out of the question but many of the veterans could not understand why we did not withdraw before winter and return in spring to engage in more raiding.
“It’s the Flemish,” Black Walt repeated. “Got to be.”
My house was a sturdy one, with two chambers and a loft above for storage. The small bedchamber at the rear was a private space for me and where I would bleed myself to provide blood for Thomas every few days, away from the prying eyes of our company. The main chamber was a larger space with a fire which I used for company business which meant in essence it was where we drank ale and talked and played dice every night.
“The King would not do all this just for the Flemings,” Rob countered. “It must be for England’s benefit.”
“Aye,” said Hal, “but what’s good for Flanders be good for England.”
Fair Simon lifted his head, confusion on his face. “We ain’t going to hand the keys of Calais over to the Flemings, are we, Sir Richard?”
“Of course not,” I said. Though I thought that Edward was the kind of king who would do anything if it served his ultimate purposes. Whatever those were.
“You see, Walt!” Simon snapped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And you cannot hold your drink, lad. Why don’t you have a lie down before you hurt yourself, eh?” Walt cuffed his mouth. “I never said he would hand it over, did I? What I do say is that we were supposed to be taking possession of Normandy, were we not? I know we cannot secure
so much land but if we want a city or a port, why not one in Normandy? Well, we know why. The King needs the Flemings. And so we take Calais, no matter the cost, because the Flemings want it. When you bargain with a man, best you hold what he wants so you may get what you want. Right?”
Black Walt was fundamentally ignorant about matters above the interests of his class but he was wily enough to see that the patterns of human relationships were in essence the same even when writ large on a geopolitical scale. Still, I was bored of the endless talk.
“Hold your flapping tongue, Walt,” I said. “Do not concern yourself with the intentions of your betters. If you must speak, tell us of the time the Mayor of Spalding caught you in his bed with all three of his daughters.”
Merely mentioning the tale brought smiles and laughter from most of the men but Walt shook his head. “How many times have you blasted fools heard me tell it? I grow weary of it and thus you have gone and spoilt what was once nought but a cherished memory. No, no, do not crow at me, you oafish band. I have a greater tale I would have us hear, if Sir Richard would deign to tell it. What say you, Sir Richard? If I was a sinful man, which praise God I am not, I would place a wager that Fair Simon, Ralf, and perhaps even Adam, ain’t never had the pleasure of hearing the tale of the storming of Nottingham and the taking of the traitor at the right hand of our great king when he was but a young man in danger of losing his crown to the usurper.”
“Dear God Almighty,” I groaned. “I am nowhere near drunk enough for your goading to work, Walt, you ignorant sot and to even make the attempt demonstrates no more than your own inebriation.”
“But this is a special occasion, sir!” he cried, staring at each of us in turn with an idiot grin on his face. “It’s a Tuesday.”
“You are embarrassing yourself, Walt. We are riding to Gravelines on the morrow and I will need you sober and well rested, do you hear me?”
My men, impudent commoners that they were, cried as one that they must have my tale or else their hearts should break and other such nonsense. The more I cursed them, the more resolute they became.
I waved them into what passed for silence. “Someone bring me some wine, then,” I said and they cheered their victory.
Yet before I could begin, a messenger arrived stating that the King requested my presence, immediately. It was late in the day and so I was confident we must be facing a military crisis of some kind.
Calling Thomas, and Rob to me, I told them to get the men sober and ready them for action. I did not envy their task for it would be all but impossible.
“Walter, brush yourself off and come with me,” I said and followed the messenger to the King’s grand residence.
In all the time we had been besieging Calais, I had been seeking the knight of the black banner. I did not have leave from the King to venture far from our lines but I did what we always did in the Order and that was to pay for information. Using tactics employed by the Assassins of Alamut and the Mongols, we cultivated relationships with merchants, jounglers, tinkers and other travellers who could come across enemy lines without rousing very much suspicion.
Initially, I had been hopeful. But all our possible roads to the immortal killer of John led, in the end, to a dead end.
Stephen stayed in London for most of the time and used his existing agents and contacts to ask questions and to recruit further men. We spent a fortune in bribes and in hush money.
All for nought, so far.
After winter had passed, I was expecting the trail to magically grow fresh once more and yet every day into summer I knew that I had failed again. My failure in the battle had led to the failure in the search for the knight. My lack of success was no doubt due to my sinfulness. I had sinned by my complacency, my vanity. For decades, I had fought in battles where no man could harm me. Only when outnumbered and cut off had I felt my life at risk and even then, I was rarely concerned.
And so I had grown lazy and vain.
I had become arrogant.
Lost my way.
And I knew that I could redeem myself, in the eyes of God and in the eyes of the men and the woman of my Order, by slaying the knight of the black banner and his men.
But I had to find him first.
When we reached King Edward’s mansion, I was called into the hall without a moment’s delay.
Edward and his men were at the far end, seated about the long table, outnumbered by attentive servants. The day’s ordinary business had been dealt with and I was relieved to see the men of the court were in good cheer, for once. Wine and morsels of food were consumed as the lords conversed loudly amongst themselves. They ignored me as I took the offered seat at the King’s side.
“I have a request to make of you, Richard,” the King said, gripping a letter in his hand.
“Name it, Your Grace.”
“One of the Queen’s friends, the Lady Cecilia Comines has been widowed and requires an escort back to England. There is a ship waiting at Gravelines but the lady is at her husband’s estate in Hainault.”
“I am sorry to hear of her husband’s death. Was he at Crecy?”
“No,” the King smiled, “he was with the Flemish forces and never made it to us. His death was due to a sudden bloody flux. And the Lady Cecilia cannot stay in Hainault in the current circumstances and she requires an escort to the coast.”
“Forgive me, sir, but is her brother not Sir Humphrey Ingham?”
“Humphrey is back in England. You are the steadiest man I know and you shall not allow any harm to come to her, nor shall you allow her to be dishonoured or insulted in any way. You shall travel with the protection of a letter which states you will undertake no action which would alter the war or any treaty or truce. Do you accept?”
I bowed, for how could I deny my king? “I am honoured to accept, Your Grace.”
As I left the royal presence, Walter fell in beside me with his eyes popping out of his head and a broad, idiot grin on his face.
“The Lady Cecilia is said to be the most beautiful woman this side of the Rhine, Sir Richard!”
I chose not to ask what great beauty was on the other side of the Rhine and instead sighed at his ignorance. “Every bloody lord with a spare shilling will pay troubadours to spread word of his daughter’s beauty far and wide. In this way, he increases her market value. Do you see?”
“Clever bastards,” Walt said, nodding. “But that ain’t true of Lady Cecilia, Sir Richard, not in the least bit true. You know Garrulous Gilbert what’s with Dagworth’s company? He seen her with his own eye, so he did. He swore upon God’s teeth that she was more beautiful than a dewdrop on a red rose lit by a midsummer dawn.”
I knew the man Walt referred to and his epithet was an ironic one. “Gilbert has not had a tongue in his head for over six years, Walt. Not since that Breton knight had it cut out.”
“He speaks with his hands, sir. Gestures in a most eloquent fashion. And Gilbert says she’s got a bosom like the Lady Helen.”
“Lady Helen who?”
“The Lady Helen of Troy, sir.”
“And Helen had a fine bosom, did she, Walt?”
He shook his head in despair at my ignorance. “Stands to reason, sir. It is wisdom itself. Why else would them Greeks have run after her like that if she ain’t got no apples in her barrel?”
“You have not an ounce of wisdom in your soul, you fool.”
“Yes, sir. But what is better than wisdom? A woman. And what is better than a good woman? Nothing.”
I cursed his idiocy even as I chuckled but damn me if the fool was not entirely right about the Lady Cecilia.
***
“Might this not be a fine opportunity for ranging inland a little?” Thomas suggested as we rode. “By which I mean we can make enquiries regarding the knight of the black banner?”
“I know your meaning, Thomas,” I said. “We must do as the King commands.”
He said nothing. A silence full of meaning, which I supplied for myself. We had seen king
s come and go and while they ruled, they were everything to the kingdom and to each of us that served him. But then the king would be dead, and his courtiers would be dead, and new men would take their places. Why did the likes of us, who outlived them all one after the other, need to follow the wishes of even the greatest of mortals, when we had our own quest that spanned lifetimes?
I had no answer for Thomas back then, nor even one for myself, other than I felt it was my duty. It was the duty of all men to follow the word of their king, even if that king was young and the man was old. Why should it be any different for us when it came down to it? Fulfilling one’s duty is all one can hope for in life.
Of course, it is when duty battles with duty that a man’s heart is filled with anguish. But I had been asked a favour by a king, and a good one at that, and so I would see it through.
I escorted the Lady and her servants from a small manor house in Hainault back to Calais. It was not a long way but of course tensions were high and there was an air of lawlessness and fear everywhere we went, although that may have been as much to do with my men—veteran brutes that they were—as it did with the state of France. The entire task would have been a simple one and indeed a rather pleasant break from the fetid air of the army had it not been for one thing.
The Lady Cecilia herself.
For it was true that she was a great beauty. Her skin was pale as milk and her hair fair as sunlight, with lips like ripe cherries and eyes as big and bright and blue as a clear sky over Dove Dale. The moment I saw her, I knew I was in trouble. She was a lady and a widow still in mourning for her husband but I had bedded ladies before, married, widowed and maid alike, when they were lusty enough to make pursuit easy. There would be no privacy to be had on the road, however, and so I resolved to restrain myself lest it cause me further problems with the courtiers. Any more scandals and rumours around me and Edward would be forced to cast me aside. It would therefore be best if I attempted no seduction at all, not even a subtle one.