by David Gilman
He mumbled quietly to himself. He must be getting old to let such feelings stir inside him.
‘Don’t let it burn,’ he said. ‘It’s for Sir Gilbert. We need him at your father’s side. The fighting’s not over yet.’
*
The month soon passed without incident or recrimination and the town began to breathe more easily. Under Blackstone’s protection it settled into a sense of security and wellbeing. The tavern welcomed the archers and men-at-arms, none were short-changed for their drink, and some of the women became even more inviting.
Aelis did not venture far from the mayor’s house, where she kept a vigilant eye on Killbere and administered to his wound, but neither did she fear being seen in the square once Blackstone had accompanied her. The distrust and resentment would never be fully cleansed from the town. The women averted their eyes from her; the men did not. Lust was not easily concealed.
Blackstone heaved a piece of cut stone into place on the parapet and turned to see the flutter of a banner rise over the crest of the hill.
‘Riders!’ the sentries on the walls called.
‘I see them,’ said Blackstone and calculated the number of distant figures. Forty men. Armed and heading straight for the town gates. ‘Bring everyone inside,’ Blackstone shouted down to Perinne. ‘John! Get Will and Jack on the walls with the archers. I can’t make out their banners.’
Blackstone pulled on his jupon and fastened Wolf Sword. The approaching horsemen were coming at the canter, ignoring the dead men’s warning. Blackstone ran to the parapet above the town gates. The dull, grey light finally allowed him to recognize the gold lions on the bright red banner.
‘It’s Lancaster’s men!’ he called to those around him.
‘Shall we open the gates?’ John Jacob asked.
Blackstone shook his head. ‘No. Just because they’re the King’s men doesn’t mean they’re friendly.’ He grinned at John Jacob. ‘Maybe they’ve heard we took some of that gold for ourselves.’
The men pulled up their horses three hundred yard-long paces from the walls. The horses were flecked with sweat, their snorting breath billowing in the cold air.
‘Well, they know we have archers,’ said John Jacob. ‘They’re wary and keeping on the edge of our range.’
‘They haven’t seen how Will and the lads can get another fifty yards,’ said Blackstone. ‘My lord!’ he called to the knight who was at the head of his troops. ‘You serve Henry of Grosmont, Duke of Lancaster. How may we serve you?’
The knight took off his helm and pulled back his mail coif. ‘I am Walter Pegyn. I am charged with securing supplies for my lord’s division. We protect the army’s flanks.’
‘Ah, we can’t help you with that, Sir Walter. We barely have enough ourselves. Is there anything else?’
The knight looked dumbfounded for a moment. ‘Sir John Chandos said Blackstone had ridden here. Fetch him now! This town has declared for Edward and it must levy supplies on demand.’
‘I have already confirmed privilege on this town, my lord. I have assured them they will not be stripped of what little they have.’
‘You’re Sir Thomas?’
‘I am.’
The knight said something to his men, who waited as he spurred his horse forward at the trot. When he was fifty paces from the gates he drew the horse to a halt.
‘Did Chandos return with the gold for the King?’ said Blackstone. He could see the man’s face clearly now, and knew that he had offered his welfare into Blackstone’s care.
‘He did.’
‘Then we have served loyally and may God grant our liege lord pleasure in spending it. Where is Chandos now?’
‘South. With the King. The Duke of Burgundy has paid him to cause no harm in return for supplies. Then we will strike west and attack Paris.’
‘Did we take Rheims?’ Blackstone asked.
‘You’ve not heard? The siege was lifted in January.’
‘Ah,’ said Blackstone. ‘The Prince listened to my advice then.’
‘Your…?’ Sir Walter was momentarily lost for words but quickly recovered his authority. ‘I need supplies for the division’s raiding parties. I’ve two hundred men a few miles behind me. Open the gates so we might take what is required.’
‘You would assault our walls?’ said Blackstone.
‘You defy your King?’
‘I defy you. Go elsewhere for your supplies, Sir Walter.’
‘I am commanded to –’
‘And I command,’ said Blackstone quickly. ‘This is my town and I protect these people from assault and hunger.’
Blackstone was suddenly aware of Killbere at his side. The veteran knight had pulled on a boiled leather jerkin over his undershirt. ‘Walter!’ he shouted to the horseman. ‘It’s Gilbert!’
‘Killbere?’ Sir Walter called back. ‘We were told you were dead.’
‘Aye, and how many times have you heard that? I’d have Sir Thomas here invite you in for a drink but you’re making us all nervous. The town’s declared like he said and it’s under our protection.’
‘Merciful Christ, Gilbert. Aye, all right. I can see by this crow bait hanging here that you’ve inflicted punishment already. I’ve no taste for forcing my hand. I’ll leave my men outside the walls.’
Killbere nudged Blackstone and lowered his voice. ‘He’s a belligerent old bastard but he’ll cause us no harm and we need to know what’s going on.’ Then he coughed and wheezed from the effort of clambering onto the town walls.
‘Get yourself back to the warmth, I’ll bring him to you,’ Blackstone said.
‘And brandy. And some cuts of meat. If we’re to soften his misery we must coddle him.’
*
Sir Walter Pegyn looked to be as old as Killbere, Blackstone thought when he accompanied the knight into Killbere’s room. An unruly beard and hair badly cut gave him the air of a vagabond, but his scarred knuckles and evidence of old wounds stitched on his scalp told a different story. The chair that Killbere sat on was draped with a fur-trimmed cloak and blanket that offered some comfort as he sat in front of the fire. The mayor’s servants laid food and drink on side stools.
‘You look as though you have not yet cheated death,’ said Sir Walter as he washed his hands in the bowl provided by one of the women.
‘It’s a wound I got before Rheims that went bad. I’ve had a woman nurse me these past weeks. I linger so I might enjoy the sight of her tits a while longer.’
Sir Walter had not yet availed himself of the fire’s warmth or the food and drink offered. He loosened his cape and draped it over the bench, casting a sour glance towards Blackstone. ‘Your reputation for impertinence does not disappoint, Sir Thomas.’
‘Now, now, Walter,’ said Killbere, ‘let’s not squeeze a man’s balls till his eyes water. Thomas is who he is, no more, no less than the rest of us.’ He grinned and pointed a finger at the aggrieved knight. ‘Once I’d recovered from going down beneath that horse at Crécy, Walter and I fought together. We made some money, spent it on women and drink, and came close to organizing our own band of routiers. Not so, Walter? Good days. He’s prized by Lancaster and the King.’
‘No more than you and Sir Thomas here,’ Pegyn said, lifting the beaker of brandy to his lips. ‘Aye, truth is, the Prince values Blackstone more than he lets on, so don’t spin your flattery on me, Gilbert, I’m not one of your whores.’
Blackstone sat slightly behind them, wanting the two friends to ease into their conversation, knowing it was better for Killbere to find out what was happening in the war.
‘Have we drawn out the Dauphin yet?’ Killbere said.
‘No. He hides behind the walls of Paris. I and other knights skirmish and claim what small victory we can against the few troops he has, but it’s mostly routiers we chase and kill. The King sits in warmer climes now and Burgundy has fallen from grace with the French King for making the arrangement with Edward.’
Killbere grunted in sympathy. ‘We left Rh
eims on the King’s business. Chandos helped but Thomas here was obliged to kill the French royal captain. Chandos was pissed off. He saw a ransom slip away. But it got me here and saved me.’
Blackstone knew Killbere was wasting time, drawing in his old fighting friend, wanting to get to the nub of what action had taken place in their absence.
‘We control this area,’ said Killbere. ‘What few villagers there were around here are now within these walls. It’s a stronghold for Edward. We’ve given him two towns now. It covers his flank when he attacks Paris.’
‘And the militia here?’
‘Trained by our lads. I keep a watery eye on them from up here. You saw our defences.’
Pegyn nodded. There could be no denying that for attacking men to try and clamber across the wooden palisades and the cut timber and brush that lay before them would cause many casualties.
‘And Burgundy?’ Blackstone asked, eager to know how far south the English had rampaged.
‘As far as Guillon. The Burgundians could not take the onslaught, not after they had been fighting the routiers these past years. Edward agreed a three-year truce for two hundred thousand moutons paid over a year and a half.’
‘Then he’s content to sit a while,’ said Blackstone, realizing that Edward would replenish his food stocks for his men and fodder for the horses. Two hundred thousand was not a great deal of money for the Queen of Burgundy and the duchy council to pay. It was a rich land worth protecting.
‘How long before he strikes out for Paris?’
Pegyn shrugged and chewed the cut of meat from his eating knife.
Blackstone sensed the time was getting close. Once Edward’s troops had been fattened they would scorch their way to the Paris gates and assault the city, and that, Blackstone thought, might spell disaster for the English. He guessed it would be three weeks, perhaps another week more before the King attacked. By the end of March the army would be on the move. The weather should be clearing by then. He glanced at Killbere. The veteran chewed meat and grinned. Both knew there was little time left to have the men fighting fit again. The banners of war would soon be unfurled once more as the English lions clawed the French crown from its master.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Killbere grunted with effort, sword raised, eyes focused as he attacked Blackstone.
He struck hard and fast. The sword’s blood knot tightened on his wrist as he parried a blow with the mace he wielded in his left hand. His body half turned, shifting his weight, and as Blackstone retaliated he twisted Blackstone’s Wolf Sword blade away and struck him across the side of his helmet. Blackstone whipped back his head. The hefty blow had been well aimed: had it not, it would have torn away Blackstone’s face. Without hesitation Blackstone struck the flat of his blade against the coat of mail beneath Killbere’s leather jerkin directly against his friend’s wound. Killbere snarled but ignored the pain from the blow and pressed his attack once again. The fervour with which Killbere advanced against the bigger man was the same kind of assault Blackstone had witnessed across the battlefields of France. Blackstone closed quickly and threw his weight against the smaller man, pushing him off balance. Killbere fell heavily into the mud and gazed at Wolf Sword’s blade that hovered at his throat. They had fought for an hour.
‘All right, Thomas. Enough is enough.’
Blackstone offered his hand and heaved up his friend.
Killbere grinned. ‘That felt good.’ He spat phlegm from the exertion. ‘You made a few mistakes, Thomas. I could have had you,’ he said, shaking free the mud from his hands.
‘I let you think that. I was drawing you in.’
‘You’re a terrible liar. Just as well you’re a better swordsman. You believe me now when I say I’m ready?’
Blackstone grinned and nodded. He was finally satisfied that Killbere had regained his strength and was fit enough to return to the war. They had sparred every day with and without shield, using sword and mace, until the weakened man regained his strength and proved it by at times almost beating Blackstone. He was barely tall enough to meet Blackstone’s shoulder but had the sinew and muscle of a man who had spent a lifetime fighting, which made him a dangerous opponent. On more than one occasion he had closed on Blackstone and with guile and unexpected strength tripped or unbalanced the bigger man. Only when Blackstone bore down on him and struck him time and again with the flat of his blade and saw no weakness despite the pain that Killbere must have been feeling did he finally relent and agree that his friend could sustain himself in battle.
*
In the fourth week after Sir Walter Pegyn had eaten his fill and taken his leave, Blackstone and his men prepared to leave the town under the command of its mayor and his constable. The time spent at Balon had healed their saddle sores and brought Killbere back to health as he had proved sparring with Blackstone the day before. Now Blackstone bristled with impatience, keen to get back to the fighting. The two men approached the square where Mayor Malatrait and the town’s burghers waited.
‘It’s bad luck to take her with us, Thomas.’
Blackstone glanced to where Aelis stood. He had deliberately placed her between Meulon and Gaillard for protection in case of any final foolish act of retribution against her. ‘She has her uses, Gilbert, you’re testament to that.’
‘I grant you she’s healed me, and I swear I feel stronger than I did at Rheims. She’s rid me of the poison and has given me back my strength, and for that I thank her. But we’re talking about a woman who would have held men’s vitals in her hand and sliced them off. That’s no ordinary woman. Did you ask yourself how many women you’ve known would do that? And I wager she would have cut them slowly like carving a leg of goose. Think on it. She could hold your cock and balls and then start cutting. Mother of God, does that thought not make your blood run cold?’
‘She had been raped and tortured. She had just cause.’
‘Of course and you gave her justice. But a woman who’s handy with a knife has a dark past, Thomas. What if she uses the dark arts and uses men’s parts to conjure forces from beyond the grave?’
‘I saw no sign of that.’
‘Of course not. Witches and sorcerers hide in plain sight. They charm and entice. Listen, who would want to wake up in the morning and find their private parts frying in the fire as she chanted a heretical spell?’
‘There’s no choice, Gilbert. And I saw her with you and…’ Blackstone hesitated, still thinking it was better that Killbere was not told of the sex he had unknowingly enjoyed that night. Again he questioned his reasoning and once more concluded it to be the correct decision. Lust could turn a man’s mind and his friend was no stranger to it. If Killbere enjoyed the memory of the girl straddling him he might be drawn to her now. Blackstone’s mind ran on to the consequences of the veteran knight desiring the girl, of her perhaps rejecting him, of Killbere’s anger. Of the violence that might follow.
‘And what?’ said Killbere.
‘She cared for you like a sister to a brother.’
‘I squeezed her tits and she did not behave like a sister.’
‘She allowed it?’ said Blackstone. A woman behaving like a common whore among his men could soon wreak havoc.
‘No,’ confessed Killbere. He winced at his failure. ‘She kept well clear of me after that and I had to content myself with a serving girl, but she has the look of a temptress and what good will that do to these horny men? Christ, given the chance every one of them would bed her.’
‘You know as well as I do no man will go near her.’
‘Aye, but only because they think you have claimed her yourself. Time will soon show that you have not.’
Blackstone stopped walking and turned his back so that the gathered townspeople would not hear what he said. ‘Gilbert, I cannot leave her here. They still think she is a witch. She would be dead the moment the gates close behind us.’
Killbere subdued his irritation. His voice lowered. ‘Thomas, what if she is a witch and we b
ring her into our midst? There, with us, day in day out, would any of us sleep easy in our blankets at night? I’m telling you it’s bad luck to have a woman riding with us, let alone someone like her.’
The previous weeks had seen Aelis keep her distance from Blackstone day to day once she had walked with him through the town. His protection for her had been established and everyone knew that if one person attacked her then the town would be sacrificed. It kept their primal fear and hatred in check. She had slipped into near silence when attending Killbere, even when his hand strayed to her breast as she checked his wound. She had glanced at him with a reproachful look that made little impression on the veteran fighter, but thereafter she simply dispensed the ointments and herbs and insisted that one of the servants dress his wound. It mattered not to Killbere. The girl servant was willing enough to attend to more than his injury.
Blackstone said nothing in reply to Killbere’s request, but his gaze was enough of an answer. Killbere shrugged and sighed. ‘All right, all right. I tried. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. God’s blood, I swear you become more pig-headed every passing day.’ He spat and looked past Blackstone at the expectant crowd. ‘Now, Thomas, don’t go making long speeches. We’ve a few days’ ride to catch up with the King,’ he urged quietly. ‘The weather has turned for the better; we can make good time.’
Blackstone glanced at him. ‘They expect a speech. So I’m obliged to give them one. It’ll be as long as it takes.’
Killbere sighed and nodded in resignation; then he followed Blackstone as he strode towards the crowd. Blackstone stopped ten paces from the mayor and the crow priest, both of whom bowed their heads respectfully, as did the townspeople. Killbere stood a pace behind his friend’s shoulder, hands resting on his sword’s pommel. Like Blackstone, he was uncertain whether someone might still harbour enough resentment to strike at them, especially now that they had trained the town’s militia. He glanced towards Aelis. It would be suicide for anyone to try and harm her, flanked by those two mountain bears, but what about here, closer to the crowd? A sudden lunge by a few determined men? It was a fanciful thought and he knew it. Blackstone had given the town back its life. Still, he reasoned, it paid to be suspicious.