Blood of the Innocents

by Michael Jecks

  ‘In Heaven? I have long enough to wait before that, with God’s mercy. We know what you say is true, Cardinal, yet you also know what I state is true. The quarrel is just. It’s not an idle whim that led my knights to take on armour and travel here. When Valois was crowned, the nearest heir was my father, King Edward. It was to him that all should have pledged allegiance. But no, Philippe Valois stole the crown and now his son reigns.’

  ‘You would hinder peace. It is pride that speaks here!’ Capocci said.

  The Prince shook his head and Sir John could see that he conquered his anger with difficulty. When he spoke, his voice was amiable and gentle, but only so gentle as the finest lamb’s wool in the scabbard that protects the steel blade. The blade was yet there.

  ‘No, Cardinal. It is not pride, and neither do I wish to hinder peace. However, I cannot broker peace without instruction from my father. I have my orders. Still, if you can win my father’s approval for peace, that will be well. I will agree with alacrity if it will save a number of men’s lives and all the damage and loss that must ensue.’

  ‘So you will agree to a truce?’ Talleyrand said hopefully.

  ‘No. First you must persuade my father to change his instructions to me. I will happily avoid war if that is his wish. However, I am here on his command. He did not give me permission to seek peace while I was here. I cannot in all honour break my oath to him to obey his orders. So, gain his approval and I will gladly change my plans to suit his wishes. But be aware of this: I am so convinced of the justice of my cause here, that I have no doubt that God, our Lord and Master, will grant me victory when I meet the French King in battle. I will not delay that battle, nor will I seek to avoid it. So, if you wish to speak with my father, be swift, else you learn that all has already passed before your return.’

  ‘If you demand this, the battle will have been fought!’ Capocci spat.

  ‘Then I suggest you hurry to speak to him. Because as you know, not only am I without instructions, but there is an army under this supposed King John which is even now riding to meet me. I will not negotiate while he approaches to trap me.’

  Sir John smiled to himself as the Cardinals rose and made their farewells. The Prince stood too, gracious as ever, as the two swept along the hall to their men, and gradually the chamber emptied.

  ‘He had tears in his eyes,’ Sir John heard the man on his right say.

  ‘Talleyrand was keen to bring this all to a conclusion,’ Sir John said. ‘Perhaps he truly feels sorry for those who will die.’

  ‘It’s more likely his family has land about here and he will see his income reduce,’ his neighbour said cynically.

  ‘My Lords!’ a herald called over the sudden hubbub. ‘Your Prince would speak with you on a matter of great urgency!’

  The weather had improved. That at least was some relief, Berenger thought as he jogged along.

  None of the vintaine had the slightest idea what had happened at the town, and it was a relief to see Sir John riding up late in the afternoon.

  Clip was quick to put on his most wheedling tone. ‘Sir John? What’s happening? We were comfortable there.’

  ‘Aye, well, sometimes even you have to suffer a little hardship, Clip. We are marching to the next town.’

  ‘Why, though?’

  Sir John looked across at Clip, then up at Berenger, and along the line of the vintaine, as though assuring himself of the quality of the men, and satisfying himself that they would not falter.

  ‘We have a trained army, Clip. We have the best men in a fight in all Christendom. Not because our knights wear harder armour, or because we are stronger than the Frenchmen, but because we are trained and prepared. When the French muster their men, they gather up all the local farmers. Well, they’re hardy enough, and they have the muscles to swing an axe or a sword, but they don’t have the experience of actually sticking a blade into another man’s guts, or taking an axe to his head. You do. That makes you better in a battle. You’re less likely to freeze and show fear.’

  ‘Aye, well, I don’t know fear,’ Clip said complacently.

  ‘That is because you have few original thoughts in your head!’ Sir John said. The men laughed. ‘But when we go to battle, we have the combined force of archers like you laying down a blanket of death over any field. We saw well enough at Crecy how that would allow us to dominate any territory. Well is it said that for a French army to have a superiority of four to one would make a battle unfair. We would still have the advantage of them!’

  ‘Aye!’ Clip said, and Dogbreath gave a snarling cheer.

  ‘The French know this,’ Sir John said, and his eyes were roving over the land ahead now. ‘They know it well. And the fact is, that they have a good strategy. If they can hold us against a river or the sea, and then attack at a time and place of their choosing, their numbers may weigh against us. So they manoeuvre to try to get beyond us and cut off our retreat, while we must hurry to prevent them, and find a defensive site where we can place the archers and men-at-arms to best advantage. And that is the game we play now: we race south, while the French try to catch us and overtake us. If they succeed, we shall have to look to our swords and our courage. If we succeed, we shall win the day again, as we did at Crécy.’

  Robin exchanged a look with Saul and said, ‘So you think they will want to fight this time?’

  ‘I have no doubt of it. The French are led by an impetuous, impulsive ruler. He has heard all through his childhood of the battles that his father avoided. His father was an intelligent man, although a poor leader of men. But he was sensible. Clip and Fripper here can tell you about the siege of Calais, when the French suddenly appeared and almost swept us from our camp. They could have made our lives difficult, but we were lucky enough to have good commanders, and our camp was at the base of Sangatte, where there are only a few paths that can be safely trodden in between the marshes. There was no means by which the French could attack us there without being slaughtered in a few narrow pathways. Their commanders took the only sensible route: they retreated, to the disgust and contempt of the besieged in Calais. It was the only course they could take, but it resulted in obloquy. Shame was heaped on the heads of all those present who recommended retreat, and that kind of shame leaves a burning scar in the mind of a man like King John. He feels that most keenly and constantly strives to show that he is a better man than his father. It is his firmest ambition to beat the English in battle. He will do anything to catch us in some manner so that we may not escape, in a place where we must be destroyed.’

  Berenger saw Felix and Pierre give each other an anxious look. ‘But, Sir John,’ he said, ‘although they have a rough plan, we have the commanders to foil it, do we not?’

  ‘Oh, aye, Fripper. We have the better commanders by far,’ Sir John said, his eyes creasing in a smile. ‘We have Sir James Audley, the Captal de Buch, and the Prince himself. With men such as these, and with the archers and our men-at-arms, we shall not only prevail. We shall win another victory of the kind not seen since Crécy! We shall kill their nobles by the score until the ground is drenched in blood! Their knights will die in their armour, just as before.’

  ‘But first we have to find a good location for the battle,’ Robin said.

  ‘Not only that,’ Sir John said. ‘We must also seek the locations where the French wish to fight and avoid them, and we must discover as soon as we may exactly where the French are. Those are our most urgent tasks. And for that reason I would ask that you ride to the south and east, Fripper. Take your vintaine and Hawkwood’s, but you will be in command. As soon as you make contact with the enemy, ride back and do not engage.’

  Tuesday 13 September

  Twenty miles. It was only twenty miles.

  Berenger took the men at a leisurely pace to the south and east as he had been ordered, and soon they were in a large forest, with trees that rose on all sides. It was silent, and the wind seemed to miss them, but gusted over their heads. The clouds were bucketing past
high overhead, and the sun flared and burned them for minutes at a time before fading as a fresh cloud smothered her. The path they followed was narrow, a mere peasant’s path through the woods, and there was thick undergrowth on either side at the line of trees; after some time the road began to climb gently into the hills. Berenger kept looking at the trees and recalling the ambush intended to distract the men that had nearly gone so badly for him and the vintaine. Where was that? On the march to one of the towns they had captured. He couldn’t remember which now. The assaults and towns all merged into one. An unending series of attacks and killings.

  ‘Keep your eyes open,’ he called quietly to Robin, who rode along behind him.

  He heard the message pass back along his column of men, and he knew that to his left, Hawkwood was doing the same. Hawk was out of his line of sight on another track through the trees, and Berenger’s ears strained all the while to hear any sounds of a fight: shouts, ringing of steel on steel, the whinnying of a horse in agony – but there was nothing. Only an occasional burst of birdsong, the hiss of leaves catching a breeze, the irregular clatter of men and horses at a fast trot. The road climbed a little more steeply, and the land to the left fell away, the tops of the trees falling lower and lower until Berenger could look over them all.

  ‘Ah don’t like this. We’ll all get killed, you know.’

  ‘Shut up, Clip,’ Berenger said automatically. He didn’t need that sort of comment now. He was struck again by the conviction that no matter who else died in battle, it would never be Clip. The man carried his own defensive aura of impregnable certainty with him. There was nothing could penetrate his confidence, not even a bolt from a Genoese crossbow, and . . .

  There was a sound up ahead, and Berenger held up his hand. The column halted; apart from the blowing of the ponies and the occasional pawing of hoofs at the dusty ground, Berenger could hear nothing.

  ‘What is it, Frip?’ Robin said. He had ridden to Berenger’s side and now sat on his own mount, listening intently.

  Berenger shook his head, his eyes narrowed, and then he dropped from his saddle and took his bow. He strung it and took five arrows from his riding quiver, signalling to Robin to remain where he was, then Berenger trotted up the track, his shoes making little noise in the dusty roadway. There was a slight rise and then the road curved to the right, and Berenger crouched lower as he approached. Stopping a moment, he listened, and then he caught the noise again.

  It was not a discernible sound, but a low grumble that almost seemed to come up from his feet. He knew at once what it was, but he edged forward carefully nonetheless, dropping to his hands and knees as he approached the edge of the road and could stare down at the plain.

  ‘Shit!’

  Wednesday 14 September

  The response to the vintaine’s news was instant. Berenger met with Hawkwood’s men on their way back to La Haye, and when Berenger had reported to Sir John, Hawkwood was able to corroborate the main facts: the French were hurrying south in an attempt to overhaul the English and block their path. If they succeeded, it would hold the English forces and the French could call on other levies to come and help crush the Prince’s army.

  At dawn on the Wednesday Berenger and the vintaine were already on their horses, riding warily south and west and looking for any further sign of the French. They searched from the high ground, with Berenger grumpily sitting on his horse while Hawkwood and Robin, with their better eyesight, searched diligently for any flashes of armour, rising dust from a column of troops marching, or any other indications of movement. There was nothing they could see, and the English army soon reached Chatellerault. The town had the sense to surrender without a fight. It meant many would lose much, but at least most would remain alive.

  Berenger stood at the town’s walls and stared at the land all about while the men about him dug pits and erected wooden barricades to break any assault in the lands before the town’s gate. The clatter of picks and hammers was everywhere.

  The hills rose, rippling like giant waves, curling each on another, but in the town itself there were few vantage points to see the countryside around. It left him feeling enclosed: trapped. He longed to find a horse and escape this place.

  ‘Not happy, Fripper?’

  ‘Archibald! I didn’t hear you.’

  ‘No, well, I rarely hear much myself now,’ the old gynour commented. He poked a finger into his ear and wiggled it experimentally.

  Berenger gave a grin. ‘I expect so,’ he said.

  ‘You should come and see us,’ Archibald said. ‘We have a quiet little shed where the powders can be kept safe and dry, and Beatrice is proving to be a marvellous cook. She can work wonders with a couple of pigeons or conies.’

  ‘I have many duties.’

  Archibald eyed him with a look of grim distaste. He looked like a father peering at a wayward son. ‘Oh, is that so, Master Fripper? What is it that scares you? In the past it was an irrational dislike of my powders that kept you away. Now it’s your tarse, isn’t it? Or is it that you fear your prickle would do nothing?’

  Berenger felt the flash of anger like a torch in his breast. He took a step forward, and he scarcely realised that his hand was on his dagger until Archibald’s voice came to him.

  ‘Old friend, I didn’t mean to make you quite that angry. It wasn’t my intention. My apologies.’

  Berenger looked down to see that his dagger was more than half-drawn. Archibald’s hand was on his, and as the gynour saw his glance, he gently removed his hand.

  ‘I . . . I’m sorry, Master Gynour,’ Berenger said. He thrust the dagger back into its sheath and suddenly felt enormously weary. A shudder convulsed his frame. ‘Come, let me buy you a cup or two of wine, my friend.’

  ‘What is it, Fripper?’ Archibald asked as they walked.

  ‘I am too old. When my wife died, when my children died, that was terrible. But then another woman was murdered for her growing affection for me – or perhaps because of her fear for her life if I had left – and her death brought me back to my senses. I saw the look in Béatrice’s eyes when we met again. She wants my love, but every woman I touch comes to harm, and I will not be responsible for another woman’s hurt and injury. I cannot.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘I will find a monastery and install myself there as a corrodian. I will tell the novices all about my great history and make them excited and scared to hear that such an ancient old bastard could have had so exciting a life. And then I will die, shriven and content, and await the judgement in peace.’

  ‘You will go and rest? You? I never thought to see the day I would hear you say that!’

  ‘I have killed enough men already. I’ve been responsible for the deaths of too many, Archibald. That knowledge takes its toll of a man.’

  ‘You should see her, Fripper. She will have no man but you.’

  ‘What of Ed? The Donkey was a good fellow, as I recall.’

  ‘Well, he is a strong worker. So is an ox. It doesn’t make the ox any more attractive to a woman.’

  Fripper grinned at that. ‘Perhaps not.’

  ‘Come and see her, Frip. She would like that.’

  Berenger turned back to the hills and felt again that tight, anxious feeling of being imprisoned. ‘I will.’

  The barn which Archibald had taken was near the southern part of the town. It was enormous, and it had been easy for him to manipulate the wagons into the space. Now, when Berenger walked in, there were fifteen men sitting at a fire outside the main wall. Archibald stalked inside quickly and cast his eyes about the room with a quick suspicion before turning to Berenger with a shrug of apology.

  ‘It’s my task to ensure that the powder is always safe,’ he explained. ‘It is so choleric that a man wearing the wrong type of boot can set it off. If he has studs, if he strikes a spark from a cobble, if a fellow grinds the powder too long and too hard, or any number of other problems will lead to its explosion.’

  ‘It is still dan
gerous, then?’ Berenger said, looking at the small barrels stored so close.

  ‘It is safe, my friend. Never forget, these are the very powders that will save our lives. It is these that will drive our missiles towards the enemy and ravage them, rending the limbs from their bodies.’

  ‘You speak most eloquently.’

  ‘And you speak like a fearful soldier,’ Archibald chuckled. ‘Come!’

  He had a chamber created at the farther end of the barn. A doorway led to a small yard, and here Berenger met Beatrice once more. Archibald walked out, loudly calling to Ed, and in an instant Berenger was alone with her, silently cursing Archibald under his breath.

  ‘Maid, I hope I see you well?’ he ventured.

  She nodded. Béatrice was wearing a simple tunic and chemise, and she stirred a pot of meaty broth that gave off a delicious odour.

  He sat on the ground. ‘I am glad.’

  ‘I am content. You have ridden far while scouting, I hear tell?’

  ‘Aye. We have found the enemy’s army.’

  ‘Good. You said your wife died of the pestilence,’ she said.

  ‘She – and our boys,’ Berenger said. He felt the grief as a pin-prick to his heart, but he resolutely pushed it down. It was too long ago.

  ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘It was a long time ago. There’s no need to be.’

  Berenger looked up at her and as he did so, she was looking at him. All at once he felt the pain in his breast again, that poignant sensation of loss and grief and hope and despair all thrown together and carefully mingled like Archibald’s serpentine. ‘Béatrice, I . . .’

  He got no further. There was a scuffling of feet outside, and then the steady trot of a company of men on horseback, and even as he looked up, he saw the gynour and Ed return. Then, through the open gateway he saw the men riding. In the front was Will, then a line of other men from his company. ‘What is it?’ he snapped.

  ‘Ed’s gone mad, that’s all!’