by David Gilman
‘Sir Thomas, I am a Norman, not a Breton. I don’t give a damn about Charles de Blois or John de Montfort. Noblemen squander men’s lives as easily as trampling a field of grain. If there is a choice, I will not take my men into the fight, so I will need a ransom large enough to buy me my freedom to choose.’
Blackstone looked over his shoulder to where ben Josef bathed Meulon’s face with the tenderness of a woman with a child. He looked back at de Claville. ‘You shall have your ransom and I wish you a long life to spend it.’
‘I want something more,’ said de Claville. ‘The man who slaughters innocents has part of his scalp missing here.’ He touched above his right ear. ‘He wears a surcoat of four upturned daggers against blue cloth. Bring me Ranulph de Hayle’s head and rid us of the threat he poses. He is a beast who needs to be killed.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Killbere choked on his wine at Blackstone’s answer to his question. He spat it out. ‘God’s tears, Thomas. Six pounds? For an old man? I could buy several horses for less. And you know how many archers a day we could have at our side with six pounds?’
‘How many would that be, Gilbert?’
‘At sixpence a day we could have...’ He scowled as the arithmetic eluded him.
Blackstone waited as Killbere struggled. ‘Two hundred and forty archers,’ said Blackstone.
‘No matter,’ said an irritated Killbere. ‘Have you lost your senses? He’s a Spaniard. What good will he do us?’
‘He saved Meulon’s life: that’s worth more than any damned horse and many archers.’
‘I do not question the value of Meulon’s life, Thomas, I ask why you would pay a king’s ransom for a Jew who will attract distrust and censure. He will not be permitted to practice, you know that.’
‘I don’t care whether a man is Christian, Pagan, Muslim or Jew. He stays with us until I return him to Navarre.’
‘You mean we don’t even own him?’
‘When did we ever have slaves?’ said Blackstone. ‘This man has skills greater than any barber-surgeon I have witnessed and he will stay with us for as long as it takes for us to return him safely. I have signed the promissory note. De Claville will take it to a banker in Rheims and Father Torellini will honour the debt from my account in Florence.’
Killbere sighed. ‘Thomas, let us at least turn a profit and sell him to the King of Navarre.’
‘Time will tell what favour we might need from him. Until then he is our guest and he rides in the wagon with Meulon.’
‘And the Spanish prisoners you paid for? Are they to fight with us?’
‘They’ve sworn their loyalty to me. We’ll see how well they fight when the time comes. I have put them under Renfred’s command.’
Killbere corked the wineskin. ‘And I’ll wager that Godfrey de Claville has already sent riders to warn Charles of Blois that we are on our way to join Chandos.’
‘It makes no difference, Gilbert. Men are swarming in from everywhere. It’s a war between the English and the French in all but name. Their new King will want Brittany under his control, not Edward’s. He’ll send Normans and men from Burgundy to fight alongside the Bretons. He beat Navarre at Cocherel and now he will want to win against de Montfort.’
‘The question is, who makes the first move and where? Do any of those Navarrese prisoners know anything about Beyard?’
‘He was taken for ransom on the battlefield by one of the Breton lords. Godfrey de Claville lied to us. Ranulph de Hayle was here. He bought some of the Spanish prisoners. De Claville kept others back. The French have a profitable trade going on.’
‘Then you think he had Beyard?’
‘No.’
‘Why not? The lying whoreson might have made a healthy profit on him.’
‘I spoke to the Spanish. One of them thought he might have been taken to the castle at Auray.’
Killbere smiled. ‘Now, that’s convenient. We are to meet Chandos near there.’
‘And all we need to do is ensure that we get de Montfort and Chandos to do as we want. If Beyard’s held there, then we need to get inside.’
‘Which will be the more difficult? Getting inside such a stronghold or convincing Chandos and de Montfort to let us?’
‘That we’ll have to see when we get there. In the meantime, we must ensure these newcomers do not cause friction among us. Especially any feeling the men have about the Jew.’ Blackstone walked to the edge of the forest where the men were camped. Clusters of them stood around the covered cart that bore Meulon, cosseted on a straw mattress and watched over by ben Josef. Blackstone’s men looked warily at the man in his Spanish garb.
‘The Navarrese I ransomed spoke well of the Jew. They told me that de Grailly had campaigned with him before as his surgeon. I didn’t know that.’
‘De Grailly’s a Gascon: he probably didn’t want the Pope hearing about it. He excommunicated the Castilian King for having Moors as his personal guard. No man needs a religious conflict bearing down on him when there’s a war to be fought,’ said Killbere.
Blackstone kicked dirt over the fire. ‘We’ll take no censure about ben Josef. I’ve told the captains he is under my protection and that if any man falls wounded, then he will treat them. That or they can pray to the Almighty to save them and hope for a barber-surgeon. I know who I’d choose.’
Killbere settled the wineskin on his saddle’s pommel. ‘Well, I hope you know what you’re doing, Thomas, now that we have Spanish prisoners ready to fight the Bretons and French, and a Jewish surgeon honoured by de Grailly and ransomed by an Englishman. Our lads will be wary of Navarre’s men, and others will not enjoy having a Jew among us. There could be enough bad blood to start our own war.’
‘Then let’s give them a battle to fight against the Bretons and remind the new French King that his men face English and Welsh archers and men-at-arms determined to give Edward and the Prince the victory they crave.’ He hauled himself into the saddle. The bastard horse fought the reins but Blackstone controlled him. ‘Winning wars is what we do best.’
*
They travelled at a modest pace, stopping where they could at monasteries along the way, seeking comfort to aid Meulon’s recovery. Halif ben Josef was not permitted to enter such places and camped with John Jacob and the men outside the walls as Blackstone and Killbere stayed with their wounded friend. All of them ignored Ben Josef except John Jacob, but as word of the surgeon’s skill spread among them, some approached with ailments of their own. He offered advice and treatment, giving them herbs and potions that went beyond Will Longdon’s knowledge. After only a few days ben Josef’s religion was less important to the fighting men than his healing skills.
Blackstone had delayed their onward journey by staying longer at every camp and monastic shelter and, after many weeks, they reached Sir John Chandos north of the Breton town of Auray. By then Meulon could walk and ride, but followed Blackstone’s demand that he allow ben Josef to examine and dress the wound every day.
‘I’ve seen Moors and Jews living in the same city in Castile and Navarre,’ said Chandos. ‘The Prince would do well to consult men like him.’
‘He’s ill?’ said Blackstone. ‘I saw no sign of it.’
‘There are days he is weak, others when he is not. No one knows except those closest to him. It is a malady that comes and goes and is not understood by his physicians. No one else must know of it.’
‘I understand,’ said Blackstone. If the Prince was weakened by illness then his rule of Aquitaine was vulnerable. ‘I’m looking for one of my captains taken at Cocherel. He’s a Gascon who served with de Grailly.’
Chandos unrolled a map of the Breton march. ‘He could be anywhere, if he’s still alive.’
‘Have you heard of any ransom being demanded for those taken?’ said Blackstone.
‘None, and if you have wasted time searching for him, then you’ve done the Prince a disservice. You were expected here long before now.’
‘We did as the Prin
ce ordered. We shadowed de Grailly’s flank, keeping French forces from attacking him. We took no part in the fighting at Cocherel.’
Chandos could not hide his irritation. ‘You continue to test a man’s patience. We have work to do here.’
Killbere picked his nose, examined the contents on the end of his finger and flicked it away. ‘And while you wet- nurse de Montfort, we stay loyal to men who fought with us. Beyard is a captain, he’s valued, and worth a few days of our time. And the fight hasn’t started yet, so where’s the harm?’
‘And we took time to escort villagers to safety away from one of your routier companies,’ said Blackstone.
Chandos raised his eyes from the map. ‘I allow none of the companies to destroy villages. They are led by Englishmen who gather to help us in the fight against Blois and his Bretons. Hugh Calveley, Hewitt and Latimer brought their routiers to me in the Prince’s name.’
‘It’s not them. The French believe you’re harbouring and protecting Ranulph de Hayle, who hides behind the name Ronec le Bête. He and his men raped and killed their way from Alençon.’
Chandos shook his head. ‘No! I stopped him. He plays both sides. He’ll kill anyone who gets in his way: French, Breton or English. I refused to take his routiers under de Montfort’s flag.’
‘Then you don’t know where he is?’ said Killbere.
‘No. And I would ask you not to pursue him, if that is your intention, because we have a problem. If we are not careful, our plan to defeat Charles of Blois will fail. Our young friend de Montfort might be a favourite of the King but he’s strong-willed.’ He poured wine and handed Blackstone and Killbere a beaker each.
‘Not unlike another twenty-five-year-old I knew,’ said Killbere, glancing at Blackstone over the rim. ‘And as belligerent now as then.’
Chandos needed no reminding but if he and Blackstone were to deliver Brittany to the King, then antagonism had to be put aside. ‘We have had our differences, Thomas, but although you’re the King’s Master of War I dare not let you chastise de Montfort. He’s too young to be rebuked for being impetuous.’ Chandos looked through the pavilion’s open flaps to where armed men sharpened blades and readied themselves for a fight. ‘He insists that we ride and confront Blois. He’s keen for victory.’
‘Desire for victory is no bad thing,’ said Killbere. ‘Once he hears the trumpets and drums, he’ll fight like the devil. He needs to earn the right to rule.’
Blackstone raised his eyes from the map; he was familiar with the landscape from when he had fought and raided through the territory. ‘The Prince said you were to advise de Montfort. He wouldn’t defy you or the Prince. If it were not for Edward’s blessing Charles of Blois would have claimed Brittany years ago.’
‘And now those years come to a head. De Montfort has the right to make his own decisions, Thomas. I can only intervene if he makes a decision that will cost him, and our King, the duchy. We need the succession to go his way. We both need to convince him that riding across Brittany in search of a battle serves no purpose other than to risk defeat.’
Blackstone turned back to the map. ‘We must choose the place to fight; so what would bring Charles of Blois to us? To a place of our choosing? Auray is held by his ally. It’s a strategic town sitting at the mouth of the river.’ Blackstone traced his finger down to the sea. ‘How far to the coast? Ten miles? To seize the town would inflict a wound in Blois’s flank. He needs to bring in supplies. Auray lets him bypass the ports in Aquitaine.’ Blackstone looked at the two men.
‘Then we let de Montfort lay siege to Auray,’ said Chandos. ‘Yes. A good plan, Thomas. He has ships down the coast at Le Croisic that can soon blockade the river mouth.’
‘A siege will draw in the French and Bretons. Norman troops are already moving towards us,’ said Killbere.
‘And those who defeated de Grailly at Cocherel, from the east,’ said Blackstone. He dragged his finger across the map. ‘All those men mean Blois has four thousand men, perhaps more by now. He’ll make slow progress. His supply line must keep up with him. Bertrand du Guesclin commands the French vanguard. He’s the best leader the French have had in years.’ Blackstone studied the land mass on the map and stabbed his finger. ‘Their two armies will converge here at Brandivy.’
Chandos scratched his beard. The Breton coast was no place to make a stand. ‘We would be trapped with our backs to the sea.’
‘That’s what they expect, Sir John, but we won’t be there. We’ll be... here,’ he said and touched the area north of the town. ‘If they step into our trap then we will win the day.’
Killbere swished the wine around his mouth and swallowed. ‘And if they don’t, we’ll be neck deep in marshland mud and lose.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The castle at Auray guarded the bridge across the river that swept around the town, forming an island on three sides. From its heights defenders could see the town with its hospital and church and the busy narrow streets. Those who patrolled the ramparts felt safe looking across the rooftops to the distant plain. The tidal river dropped so low that body-swallowing mud would suck down any man stupid enough to wade across, and at high tide the town’s militia could easily kill men clambering from boats onto the quayside. The castle’s looming walls were too high for scaling ladders and the narrow strip of land between river and outer curtain walls made it impossible for siege towers to take up position. The ancient Dukes of Brittany knew how to build an impregnable castle. They could not know that a hundred years and more later an English King’s Master of War would study the great citadel and see how to breach its walls.
‘It cannot be done,’ said John de Montfort, who might be twenty-five years old but looked to have only recently crept into manhood. The contrast his youthful appearance made with the veteran fighting men was emphasized by his thin whiskers and drooping moustache. ‘Better that we ignore the town and seek out the enemy.’
When de Montfort turned away, Sir John Chandos glanced at Blackstone with a look that said: I told you so.
Blackstone remained silent as the impatient young man paced back and forth until he could no longer tolerate being ignored by his elders. ‘I have two thousand men. They have rallied to my cause. We must seize Brittany with honour in battle.’ He glared from one man to the other. ‘Answer me!’
‘My lord, you have not asked a question,’ said Blackstone.
‘Do not talk to me as if I were a child!’ said de Montfort.
‘I will not if you listen to those who know better. And if you do not then you will never gain the duchy, because you will be dead, consumed by maggots and forgotten by history.’ Blackstone’s measured tones struck de Montfort as hard as if he had clubbed him around the ear.
His jaw dropped. He stammered, looking from Blackstone to Chandos, eyes tear-filled as rage took hold. ‘Sir John! You bring this insolent knight into my quarters to humiliate me?’ He faced Blackstone. ‘Get out!’
Blackstone didn’t move. De Montfort pointed a trembling finger at him. ‘His insolence offends me.’
‘And at times it offends the Prince – and many others – but Sir Thomas is honoured and trusted and you would be wise to listen to him,’ said Chandos.
De Montfort bleated. ‘It is I who command here with you at my side.’
Chandos sighed and settled his backside on the edge of the table. ‘And he is the King’s Master of War. He will tell you that over the years we have lost our tempers with each other, but despite our differences I listen to him – and I urge you to do the same.’
John de Montfort wiped a hand across his face in case the tears of frustration made him appear less in control than he was. He took a deep breath. ‘Very well. Sir John urges me to listen. And so I will.’ His hand fluttered at Blackstone as if to hurry him along.
Blackstone spilled wine from a beaker on the scrubbed tabletop and, dipping his finger, drew a curving loop. ‘The river bends in a horseshoe around the town. There’s one bridge from the castle to the tow
n. At the far side of Auray are defensive ditches and beyond that the open plain and forests. From the heights of the castle they will see your army blocking any escape. They will send a messenger to warn Charles of Blois the moment they sight us. This port is vital to him. He’ll come to take it back. First the town must fall.’
‘Impossible,’ said de Montfort. ‘I’ll wager those ditches are heavy with traps and sharpened stakes. Crossbowmen would cut us down before we even breached the defences. No boat can navigate close enough to the quayside for the same reason. We would need high tide and that tide would spell death for the men. It would take only a few to kill us as we clambered ashore.’ His voice rose with confidence. ‘If this is your plan, I fail to see how our beloved King chose you as his Master of War.’
The insult made no impression. ‘I will give you Auray and then, if you swallow your pride, you will face Charles of Blois on the battlefield in a place of our choosing and you will defeat him and become Duke of Brittany. To do otherwise opens the door to failure.’
The two veterans watched the King’s ambitious favourite writhe with uncertainty. He turned to Chandos. ‘I will follow your advice, Sir John,’ he said, not bothering to hide his contempt for Blackstone.
Sir John Chandos stood to his full height. ‘Then do what Sir Thomas suggests.’
*
The night watch on the castle ramparts stretched and yawned away the fatigue of their long night’s duty. The mist enshrouding the river struggled to rise above the town’s rooftops. The sentries watched as a flock of colours fluttering from pennons and banners emerged from the ground- hugging fog on the distant plain. The line of cavalry came without fanfare. The army came on and fanned out around the town’s boundary, sealing off the land between the two curves of the river. Auray was now an island and if its citizens did not stand and fight, then they would have to flee across the bridge into the castle’s safety.