by David Gilman
The suburbs would be a great loss for it was where some of the richest sites awaited the English. Churches and abbeys of the Dominicans and Franciscans, forbidden by the Pope to establish themselves within the walls of the city, would lose their silver plate and religious relics. And what if by some great misfortune the English did breach the city walls? Damn them, they would perish in the streets, of that he was certain. But could enough of those barbarians reach into the very heart of power and cut it out? It occurred to Bucy that one of the safest places to be was the leper colony that lay beyond the north wall.
He turned to the captain. ‘Now, the next gate, and the next. And then I report back to the Dauphin.’ Let King Edward try to take my beloved city, he thought. His assault would be as worthless as the scarred-faced Englishman’s threat. Blackstone would not enter the city sword in hand; he would come because Simon Bucy would entice him with an offer that could not be refused.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The cold wind banished the rolling clouds and the sun’s warmth began to dry the men’s sodden clothing. Knights’ squires, mounted archers and hobelars eased the saddles from their horses’ blistered backs and hoped the warmth would heal man and beast as the King prepared to descend on Paris. Blackstone’s men were quartered within sight of the Prince’s pavilions on the rising ground of the vine-clad hills above the left bank of the Seine. Will Longdon and his archers, stripped to the waist, dried their clothes over their fires. The archers had waxed their bow cords against the constant rain even though they had been kept dry beneath their caps, for the ongoing fighting caused wear and tear and a taut bow cord ensured their arrows flew the greatest distance. The English King was using ineffective bombards to try and break down town walls but it was his archers who still caused the most death and fear in their enemy. Jack Halfpenny and Robert Thurgood shared their cooking pot like the thousands of men encamped around them. The smoke from distant burning villages smeared the perfect blue sky.
‘Salted fish. I’m sick of it,’ said Thurgood. ‘I’ve a mind to sneak into the Prince’s food tent and see what’s to be had.’
‘Your balls on a plate is what’ll be had,’ said Halfpenny, his skin prickling from the cold air. ‘Those shirts dry yet?’
Thurgood reached out and squeezed the cloth. He shook his head. ‘At least we haven’t had the shits,’ he said, and then tasted the pottage. He grimaced and pulled something stringy out of his mouth. ‘God’s tears, this tastes like fletching glue,’ he said. Goose-feather shafts were bound with adhesive that was water soluble – boiled wild plant bulbs or fish glue – and whipped with silk or twine.
‘It’s what we have,’ said Will Longdon. ‘We’ll get meat and bread, that’s been promised by the King himself. The ships from England will soon be in Honfleur; then we’ll have our bellies full and you’ll spend half the day squatting in the bushes ’cause you’ve gorged. A man has to learn how to look after his guts.’
Jack Halfpenny sampled the pottage, letting his tongue roll around his mouth. ‘Not enough wild garlic but it will bind your belly to your ribs. Besides, we’ll soon be in Paris, I reckon.’
Thurgood swallowed the gruel-like pottage. ‘I won’t know what to go for first: the whores or the wine. And I’ll wager they have cellars filled with smoked hams.’ He sifted the food through his teeth and lowered his voice. ‘The witch has tits that could make a man sell his soul and I’ll wager her cunny is as slippery as eel skin.’
Halfpenny shared his friend’s desire. ‘And I would lie with her like a dog with a bitch.’ He grinned eagerly. ‘As if men like us had any chance. Besides… how do you know what her tits are like?’
‘In the river I was pressed against her. Hard. Hard as a man could get against a woman. My arm gripped her, squeezed her tits; she made no objection.’
‘She was drowning, you fool,’ said Will Longdon.
‘She pressed her face against mine is what she did. I swear I heard her moan.’
‘Merciful Christ, spare this deluded fool.’ Longdon sighed. ‘Robert, the woman was near death and you weren’t that far from it yourself. Best get any thoughts of her out of your head.’
Halfpenny grinned again. ‘And cock.’
Thurgood looked stung. ‘It’s the truth!’ he hissed. ‘I swear it. And look what she did after I came through the forest. She took my hand and pressed it to her lips. You were there. You saw it. She desires me, I tell you.’
Halfpenny nearly choked. ‘Robert, I fear your brain is still awash from all that water that ran through your ears.’ He and Will Longdon were unable to withhold their friendly derision.
‘She offered her thanks, you turd,’ said Will Longdon.
‘You saved her life and your courage was seen by us all,’ said Halfpenny, ‘but if you think she’s taken a fancy to you then you’re no better than a blind man in a brothel. Squeeze a tit here and there and you think you have found paradise.’
‘I know what I know,’ Thurgood complained, retreating from his friends’ teasing.
Halfpenny and Longdon could barely keep a straight face.
‘Aye, well, if you say so, Robert,’ said Halfpenny. ‘The truth is that you saved all our lives when you warned us about the attack. That’s worth a drink when we breach the walls. And I’ll wager every man will buy you one. I’ll even pay for your whores myself.’
Will Longdon gazed across the vineyards. ‘I wish to Christ they’d come out and fight, then we’d finish this war once and for all.’
‘They won’t,’ said Blackstone, who had come up behind them carrying a sack. The men turned, clambering to their feet.
‘Stay where you are.’ Blackstone squatted with the men. ‘The Dauphin knows he can’t beat us. There’s no glory in hiding behind his walls but he’s doing it out of necessity. Unless he sends his army soon we’ll have to starve and burn them out.’ He dipped a spoon into the broth, tasted it and swallowed. ‘Jack, it serves no purpose to wash your stinking shirt in the cooking pot. It will be a close-run thing as to who starves first. Them or us. It needs more garlic.’
‘Aye, Sir Thomas, and a lump of meat,’ said Halfpenny.
‘There’s no game for us to poach around here either,’ said Will Longdon.
Blackstone pushed the sack forward. ‘The bread’s stale but will soak up the pottage and there’s a smoked boar haunch. Cut the meat fine and share what you can. John Jacob and I went foraging. Each of the captains has a sack.’
Halfpenny and Thurgood tore into the sack and lifted out the contraband. ‘Bless you, Sir Thomas,’ said Thurgood.
‘We owe you, Robert. Our lives were near enough forfeit,’ said Blackstone.
‘That’s what we’ve been telling him,’ said Halfpenny.
Blackstone got to his feet. Longdon grinned at him. ‘I’ll wager there’s a knight’s table less laden tonight, then.’
‘More than one, Will. Better I run the risk of being caught than have any of you thieving bastards arrested. Eat and get ready. I’m summoned by the Prince and that means more fighting. Perhaps the French army has arrived.’
*
The captain of the guard escorted Blackstone into the Prince’s pavilion. The stout canvas walls offered some protection from the cold as did three braziers burning charcoal. The air felt damp as the warmth penetrated the wet canvas. It was heavy with scent and the smell of cooked food. For once it seemed the King’s son was not displeased with him. He waved the guard commander away and beckoned Blackstone forward and thrust a goblet of wine into his hand. ‘Thomas, your men have fought harder than most. And we and our father are pleased with you.’
‘Your grace, we do what you ask of us.’
‘But you defied Chandos and killed the lord of the town,’ said the Prince, though there seemed to be little chastisement in his voice.
‘It was necessary to secure the town for the King,’ said Blackstone.
‘Chandos was aggrieved,’ the Prince said. ‘He felt you had defied us… yet again.’
‘Sir John is a knight of the realm who holds you and the King close to his heart. He was aggrieved because he thought I had denied him a ransom. I secured the gold and the town, and then I went in search of help for my wounded friend, Sir Gilbert Killbere. And then I secured that town in the King’s name also. It seemed a fair bargain to deny Sir John Chandos extra revenue from a ransom. Two towns, gold and a loyal knight in Sir Gilbert to continue fighting.’
‘There’s nothing to forgive, Thomas. You did more than was asked. We are grateful. So, too, is our Lord Lancaster. You revenged Sir Walter Pegyn’s death. Lancaster himself will thank you personally in good time. Pegyn rode under his colours and was held in high regard. Rumour has it that the French were trying to infiltrate our lines. They would have killed more of us had you not stopped them.’
‘I doubt any Frenchman has hidden beneath his enemy’s colours before.’
‘The French have become more sly by the day. The Dauphin is desperate; his father is furious that his son has rejected our father’s treaty with him. But… they will give in.’
‘Has the French army appeared?’
‘No. And we cannot understand why it has not. The Dauphin needs to fight us to hold on to the crown. If he does not, he loses all honour.’ He sipped the wine and said carefully, ‘We understand you have returned with a woman.’
‘She’s a healer. She’s the one who saved Sir Gilbert’s life.’
‘A woman shamed, from what we have been told,’ said the Prince.
‘Shamed by cruelty and men’s lust. She was chained, beaten and raped. She is no lascivious woman, your grace. Her father was burnt at the stake. I avenged them both. I would ask a favour from you if you would permit it.’
The Prince nodded his assent.
‘When we move against the French I would welcome a place of safety for her. She has skills an apothecary might use.’
‘Very well, we will see that is done. And in return your King has more to ask of you.’
Blackstone’s stomach tightened. The Prince had made the bargain knowing he would be giving Blackstone another mission that few would relish. The strategy of a war-loving King and his son could at times be badly executed, especially if those lords who advised them were ignored.
‘The King will advance north on the Orléans road,’ said Prince Edward. ‘We will destroy everything that has not yet been destroyed by the French themselves up to the walls of Paris. The city will be encircled. You will lead the vanguard into the suburbs that lie outside the walls. Clear out any resistance. Burn everything. We kill whoever we find.’
‘You will be with us?’
‘We will strike on your flank. No one will escape the blade. Our father has ordered that terror is to be inflicted on man, woman and child.’
The Prince’s enthusiasm was obvious but Blackstone sensed the danger at being hurled into enemy positions without further explanation. The suburban gardens were hedged and walled and made ideal ambush sites, and the streets were narrow. And he had heard worrying news of the King’s activities. ‘My lord, yesterday was Good Friday. Why did his grace the King strike when a treaty is being negotiated by the Pope’s legates with our ambassadors at Longjumeau? The King is camped close to the delegates. It’s barely a few miles away. Does his attack not signal a betrayal of his own goodwill?’
‘The Pope’s peacocks will have had their preened feathers ruffled. Our attack on the suburbs will sharpen their desire for peace on our terms.’ His eyes studied Blackstone over the rim of the goblet. The defiant knight appeared uncertain, and he knew that Blackstone would have a valid reason if he raised any objection, even though it would irritate him like a scab being picked. Blackstone was a fighting man who used his intelligence. God forbid he, the Prince, should have to admit that the King had listened to Blackstone’s opinion among others such as Lancaster, and realized that the siege of Rheims was unsustainable. ‘Killbere’s strength has not deserted him?’ he asked, probing as to whether Blackstone’s caution was simply that he did not have the men he needed at his side.
‘No, sire. He’s a bull-baiting dog on the end of a chain. But to attack these suburbs –’
‘Thomas, do not question what we do,’ interrupted the Prince, his tone of voice a check on Blackstone’s impertinence.
Blackstone bowed his head and bit his tongue. There was going to be mass slaughter and he was being commanded to slay women and children. He resisted the urge to question the Prince for less than a couple of heartbeats.
‘Killing women and children brings us no honour. No glory.’
‘It inflicts terror and forges a path to peace.’
‘It lets loose rape and murder. Acts I expressly forbid my men on pain of punishment,’ said Blackstone, unable to keep the edge from his voice.
The Prince held himself in check, refusing to show Blackstone his sudden anger. ‘You vex us, Thomas. You question us time and time again. You do not know the facts.’
‘Even so, my Prince. What facts would allow us to slaughter townspeople who would run before our advance, who would flee inside the city walls and become a greater burden on the Dauphin who would have to feed and water them. Is it because of what happened to Sir Walter and his men?’
The Prince tapped a finger on the goblet’s rim, and swallowed what was left of his wine. Blackstone had not yet raised his to his lips. ‘We told you the French have become more devious in their desperation. Reports have reached us from England. Two thousand or more French troops launched a savage attack. They went ashore at Winchelsea. They desired to rescue their King. They failed. They wished to force us to withdraw to defend ourselves at home. They have failed. They wished to deny our father King John’s ransom. They committed murder, rape and massacre of our people before they were thrown back into the sea. They are godless men who we are told ate meat during Lent. We will inflict our reprisals.’
The Prince placed the goblet down on the trestle table that bore the remains of his meal. Blackstone remained silent. ‘I was told you had no mercy for those at Balon.’
‘They deserved none. I only punished those who deserved it.’
The Prince sat down on his padded stool next to the brazier and pulled his cloak around him. ‘And that is what we will do. The French must be punished.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Killbere spat with disgust when Blackstone informed his captains of the King’s intentions.
‘I came here to seize the crown not slay babes. No man here relishes that. I’d rather feign illness and take myself off to a monastery and offer my arse to a monk.’
‘We cannot defy our King’s commands,’ said Will Longdon. ‘Our archers can kill from a distance, but I’m with Sir Gilbert. Killing crow priests or townsmen who stand against us is one thing but women and children can make a man’s guts squirm. These people aren’t Jacques like we had back at Meaux. They’re not doing their own slaughter.’
Blackstone looked at the disgruntled faces around him. Meulon and Gaillard said nothing but they lowered their eyes when he sought their opinion. It was plain enough. ‘I could not convince the Prince otherwise,’ said Blackstone. ‘The King wants revenge. There is a fortified priory at Arpajon, garrisoned by French troops, so I have told the Prince that we will take it and leave the rest to his men.’
The captains murmured their approval.
‘It’s a stronghold?’ said Killbere.
‘It’s the suburbs’ outer defences. Once we breach it the people are without protection.’
‘Then their lives are already forfeit because we will kill the troops who hold it,’ said Killbere. ‘That is a fact, but I will lose no sleep over it.’ He stood and looked at the gathered men. ‘We serve as we must, but Sir Thomas is our sworn lord. We forge a legend of war with him and we die as men of honour at his side. Kill the bastard French because they are unworthy of anything more. Leave the slaughter of innocents to others.’
*
Flames soared into the sky chased by billowing clouds
of black smoke as the French burned houses and barns. Their granges had been emptied and the livestock that remained were herded through the narrow streets in an attempt to slow the attacking Englishmen. The suburbs of Faubourg Saint-Jacques and Faubourg Saint-Marcel burned with furious heat that delayed the English as they sought a way through the narrow streets and gardens. No French civilian remained to fight as the fires gave them the chance to escape into Paris, but those who were too slow or tried to salvage anything that might be used to barter for food were put to death. Beyond the suburbs the stronghold at Arpajon held out against the English assault. The Benedictine priory had been turned into a fortress garrisoned by French soldiers. Those townspeople and villagers who fled the suburbs and could not reach the city gates took sanctuary in its church, dragging what few possessions they could salvage. They were trapped. The English Prince stormed the surrounding villages and the King’s bombards hurled their missiles without success against the walls. Blackstone and his men fought on foot, forcing back the defenders from their ditches and fences. The place of honour in the centre of the attack was given to the scar-face knight and his men. They fought across two ditches and then clambered forward towards the pikes bristling behind the burning defences, their spikes lowered ready to impale Englishmen.