Fields of Glory (29 page)

The attack failed. Strong walls, with adequate men to defend them, meant they needed siege engines and much more time. Attacking without these things was pointless.

‘It was never going to happen,’ Archibald said.

Berenger looked up. The vintaine had slogged its way along a rough road that made all the carts creak and crash. They had stopped now at a small wood, and the army’s transports were being
formed into a defensive ring in case of attack. Archibald’s wagon was lumbering backwards, shoved by any helpers they could find, making more noise than all the others put together. Even as
he spoke, it gave a dreadful thundering report as it fell into a rut.

Archibald froze for a moment, concerned, then relaxed. ‘Yes, Vintener, it’s a heavy beast, this wagon,’ he grinned. It has my toys in it.’

Berenger could sense the men around him shrinking back. No one liked the ‘toys’ a man like Archibald played with.

‘You are a gynour, aren’t you?’ Geoff asked.

‘And expert with Serpentine, aye.’

Berenger felt his skin crawl. He had never come to terms with cannons. An arrow that whistled through the air to cleanly puncture a man was one thing: a tube that vomited flame and stone and
tore men limb from limb was something else altogether.

‘Well, I reckon we could have taken the place,’ he declared. ‘It only required a little luck, just as we had at Caen.’

‘Not with the men they had inside Pont-de-l’Arche. No, it’ll soon grow a great deal more troublesome to take a fair-sized town or city. They will all be stocked with food now,
expecting a siege, and they’ll have brought in all the men from miles around to form their militia.’

‘So we should all go home, you mean?’ Berenger gave a twisted grin. ‘Tell that to the King – if you dare.’

‘Perhaps I should,’ Archibald said with a chuckle. Then his eyes became shrewd little flints of blue. ‘Your boy Ed – he seems a bit lost.’

‘What of it?’

Archibald’s confidence seemed to fade. He looked down at his hands for a moment. ‘Let me take him. I will protect him. I could do with a boy to help.’

‘Sorry, my friend, but we need him. He gathers up our supplies and brings them in battle.’

‘It will be a while before my toys are needed in battle. But a lad who can cook, see to the oxen and horses, a boy who can help me load and unload, that would be useful. In battle you can
have him back.’

‘Why do you want him so badly?’

‘Because, as I said, he looks lost.’ Archibald added quietly, ‘He reminds me of how I was once, Master Archer.’

‘Aye, and me,’ Berenger said, equally quietly.

The wagons and carts were formed into a rough circle now, and the horses were herded into the middle to rest the night. Berenger looked up at the gynour and suggested, ‘Come back to our
fire and we’ll speak further.’

‘Do you think he wants to learn about guns?’ Archibald asked.

Berenger grinned. ‘He wants to learn how to kill the French.’

Archibald nodded. ‘He dislikes my powder. He said he saw his father killed by it. Perhaps that is both why he hates the French and powder too.’

‘Perhaps.’

Archibald turned shrewd eyes on Berenger again. ‘Meanwhile, you are keen to be freed from the young woman. What have you got against her, exactly?’

Berenger shrugged. ‘The girl is trouble. She’s making the men fractious. The boy is a soothing influence on her and she on him. It seems better to me to let them both go together
than to try to keep just one.’

‘I have no need for a whore.’

‘All the better,’ Berenger muttered, thinking of the Welshman in the darkened room.

Archibald considered for a moment before nodding. He spat on his hand. ‘A contract, then, Vintener.’

Berenger gazed up at him, and spat on his own hand. They shook on the arrangement.

‘Although how I’m to tell the boy . . .’ Berenger wondered.

It was easier than he had feared.

‘Come here, boy,’ Archibald said later that evening, and Ed obediently went to him.

Berenger gestured to the gynour. ‘This man has offered to look after you on the journey, Donkey. What do you think?’

‘You don’t want me in the vintaine any more?’

‘It’s not that. He has a need of an extra man, and he says he will defend you from the Welsh.’

‘One man will protect me better than the vintaine?’

Berenger nodded. ‘We are sent to scout, we are sent on patrol, we are sent to take our part as sentries. At all those times you are left to your own devices without protection. With a man
like this one here, I think you will be safer. You will be with him all the time.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘It’s the powder, isn’t it, boy?’ Archibald asked quietly.

Ed looked away, but finally mumbled, ‘Yes.’

Archibald was gentle. ‘You said your father was killed by the powder. What happened?’

‘He was fishing. French pirates came and attacked us. They sailed straight into our harbour at Portsmouth, up the river, and they had cannons that blasted boats apart. I saw my father. The
gonne hit him . . .’

Archibald glanced at Berenger. ‘So that explains why you would see all Frenchmen killed.’

‘And why you wanted to kill them yourself,’ Berenger said. ‘Well, boy, this way you’ll be safer, so that perhaps in years to come you will yourself have become a brave
warrior.’

‘How will I be safer with powder all about me?’

Archibald gave a beatific smile and gulped a mouthful of wine. ‘You’ll be fine. And remember, my son, when a Welshman is confronted by a man who holds in his head the word of the
Lord, that Welsh sinner is confused and baffled.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Once, my child, there was a servant of God. He worked hard, but found that his opinion of his comrades was sinking. Those, he discovered, who should have spent their lives praying for the
souls of their flocks, were more keen on seeking ever better viands and wines. And his faith in their ministry was put to the test. However, he found a friend in a man who understood the dark arts
of forming powders, and he learned the same skills. After a while, he bethought himself to leave his abbey and make his way in the world. If your Welsh friends try to assail us, they will be
thwarted and shamed by our stalwart defence.’

‘You used to be a monk?’

‘Did I say so?’ Archibald enquired.

‘I’m not sure,’ Berenger said. ‘Did you?’

‘The Good Lord will make all clear, I dare say,’ Archibald said.

‘I want the truth, Gynour.’

‘Don’t we all, my friend? But reflect, how many of us are here from a desire to help the King, and how many come here because of troubles they wish to escape?’

With a grin, he stood. ‘Come, boy. And bring the French slut with you. It seems I won a pair for the price of one!’

11 August

They were all exhausted.

The army which had set out so full of hope was dog tired. Marching eleven miles a day was no hardship, but every day they were forced to try to attack a town.

After their failure at Pont-de-l’Arche, they had marched on to the rich town of Louviers and set it alight. The town was already empty when they arrived, and it was obvious that other
towns would also be evacuated. After that, they went to Vernon and destroyed the fortress, although the town itself repelled their attacks; then it was Mantes, and now Meulan – but at each
town the guards were ready and prepared to fight. Here, the bridge had been thrown down at the southern side, but the English could not reach it because of a strong bastion full of men who kept up
a withering hail of crossbow bolts when the English attempted to assault their walls. They suffered several casualties, and a sudden, unexpected sortie caught several unawares and saw more men
killed. In the end the English withdrew, furious and bitter to be denied the crossing once more.

‘It is the French plan, to keep us to this side and prevent our crossing the Seine,’ Sir John said to Berenger when he stopped to talk to them after their failed assault.
‘Their King seeks to tie us to this shore, and keep his major towns and cities free from us.’

‘What will we do?’

‘Carry on. If we continue upstream, we shall eventually find a place to cross,’ Sir John said comfortingly, but there was a line of anxiety on his brow that had not been there
before.

Next day, Berenger woke with a sense of grim certainty. They would never manage to break free from this land, he felt. It was as though there was a curse on the army.

The thought was instantly squashed, but he could not help but cast a look once more at the group with the gynour. Béatrice was sitting with Ed, laughing in her quiet way at something
Archibald had said, his beard wagging as he chuckled, while Ed sat by and smiled. Most of the Donkey’s tension had faded from him, and now he was a great deal calmer. In a battle, he moved
with speed to rearm the men in the vintaine, and Berenger had to confess that Grandarse was right. The boy had turned into a useful member of their team.

‘What today, then, Frip?’ Clip called from the line.

‘Wait and you’ll find out,’ Berenger said.

It was a part of the reason for their tiredness: not only were they all marching eleven miles each day, but with the whole army spread over a broad front, men were forced to walk further and
further in order to raze the widest area. Even now, in the early morning, the stench of smoke was in their faces.

‘Well, I hope we’re not going to be told to run off south and burn more peasants out of their homes. A man gets bored with that.’

‘And there’s bugger-all profit in it,’ Jack added.

Berenger stared at the land ahead. While he tried to control his feelings in front of the men, he couldn’t lie to himself. For some time now he had decided that this march was less a
principled advance to a great battle than a raid against the innocent inhabitants of the country. It was the kind of assault, in fact, that could be performed by an outlaw. God Himself must look
down in despair to see such devastation for so little reason.

‘What about turning back? We’ve collected plenty of plunder. Even the King must be happy with what he won from Caen,’ Clip said. ‘We can’t stay here
forever.’

Sir John and his esquire appeared as he spoke, and Berenger snarled, ‘Shut up, and listen!’ as the knight paused in front of them.

‘Master Fripper, we are to march again today,’ Sir John said, and he looked over the vintaine. ‘I would be glad to have you and your men at my side.’

Grandarse drew himself up to his full height. ‘If it pleases you, Sir John, I’m sure that I can afford to lose one vintaine from my complement,’ he said. ‘But when it
comes to a fight, I’ll need ’em back. What do you plan? A scout?’

‘No. We have a new battle formation today,’ Sir John said. ‘We march together, and your men will not be far from you, but if there is a need of defence up at the river’s
edge, I would have some men with me.’

‘Oh, at the river?’ Grandarse said, and Berenger could have chuckled at his crestfallen expression. He had thought Berenger and his men were to run further away to scout the land
again. As it was, if they were to remain near the river, they would be hanging back from most of the army.

‘Yes. Look!’

The archers peered over their shoulders at a strange sight.

Red banners had been raised by King Edward’s heralds and esquires. The flags must be waved gently to show them clearly, for the wind was non-existent, but they were in full view of the
French who stood at the northern bank of the river.

Berenger felt a spark of warmth deep in his belly. ‘So, we march, sir?’

‘As soon as the order comes. And then we wait and hope, eh?’

‘Yes, sir.’

At the wagon, Ed and Béatrice had no idea what the banners signified.

‘What do they mean? Are we to surrender?’ Ed asked anxiously.

‘Surrender?’ Archibald laughed heartily. ‘No, boy! They mean we’re ready and waiting. They say we expect to fight: here,
today
! If the French don’t come to
find us, we’ll call them cowards, and not worth the country they claim as their own!’

Sir John stood in the broad space before the King’s great pavilion along with all the nobles and barons of the army. He had been called to a Council of War.

The King marched from the entrance to his pavilion with his armour gleaming, his son Edward of Woodstock behind him. A dais had been erected from some boards placed over barrels, and the two
stood on this.

For a man who had been thwarted in his every attempt to cross the river and come to blows with the French, the King showed little sign of frustration. Instead, he looked about his men with a
smile. Some he acknowledged with a tilt of his head and a wink, and when he caught sight of Sir John, his smile broadened.

‘Sir John, are you still with us? A man of your age should be enjoying a life of comfort with your grandchildren at your feet, not coming out on escapades such as this!’

‘I would be happy, my Lord, to rest my weary bones, were my King content. But since he chooses to seek justice, I must burnish my armour and sharpen my swords. My wife will speak with you
later, I doubt me not, about the importance of allowing your knights to rest!’