Hundred Years War: Fields Of Glory Part 27

'Well, Archer, return to the army and be swift about it, and I will forget your insubordination,' Sir John said.

'Go swyve a goat,' Tyler said. He squared up to Sir John's horse. 'I don't know who you are, but why shouldn't we go after the rest of our vintaine?'

'You refuse a knight's order?' Sir John demanded.

Tyler grinned. 'Come with us to Beauvais! There are rich takings there, so we've heard. Good wine, money, furs, gold, everything. Come with us, and we'll all be wealthier than the dreams of a prince!'

Berenger was getting impatient. 'Tyler, do you realise this knight is one of the Prince's own advisers? You idiot! You place your life in peril. Even if you carry on, the town is well-defended and the French army is approaching. Our army may succeed in crossing the Somme if we are swift, but the way things are, I doubt it. Come! There is nothing for us here. Not today.'

Tyler nodded reluctantly. 'Very well.'

'Where are the rest of the men?' Berenger asked.

'Follow the tracks,' Tyler shrugged, at which Sir John nodded and rode away. As Berenger was about to ride off after him, Tyler stepped forward. 'Master, before you go, can you spare one or two men to help us with our baggage? The cart is broken, and we have a great deal to carry. It's mostly provisions, master, not treasure. If you send me two men, I will let them bring half away with them.'

Berenger considered. The men were all hungry, as he was himself. He looked over his shoulder and called, 'Walt and Gil: come here.'

He gave them instructions to help Tyler and his drunken companions, and then to head back to the vintaine, as fast as possible, before dark. The first few yards on his own, Berenger felt deeply uncomfortable, as though a man had painted a target upon his back, and he half-expected a clothyard arrow to bury itself in his spine at any moment.

He was also anxious about what he might find when they caught up with the rest of the renegades. It might not be so easy to cow them.

'Hoi!'

Berenger turned to see Gil waving. 'What?'

'Leave the Donkey with us. We'll have need of someone to help carry the stuff.'

Berenger glanced at Ed. The lad was downcast. His eyes were red-rimmed and glittered as if he had a fever. 'Ed? Do you want to go with them?'

'I'll go where you tell me, sir. I'm only a porter, after all. I have no opinions or feelings. I'm just here to fetch and carry.'

'Then go! Obey Gil and Walt. They are responsible for you,' Berenger snapped.

Before he turned back to the trail, he watched the boy shamble off towards the other group of men with a strange presentiment of loss. It was almost as though he was saying farewell to an old comrade rather than a foolish youth who had been continual source of petty annoyance.

'd.a.m.n him!' he muttered, and turned to the trail once more.

Only later would he come to regret that decision, when he realised the full horror and danger involved.

Ed found the going hard. Although he had no shoes, his feet were toughened, and the stones and pebbles caused him little trouble, but the speed that Tyler reckoned was necessary was difficult to cope with. The party hurried on, heading north and west, to avoid Beauvais altogether and so come upon the Somme farther to the west.

Tyler had made up his mind to be friendly, and he chatted and told jokes as they made their way along the rough tracks, soon reducing Gil and Walt to helpless laughter, but Ed remained unamused. There was an underlying cruelty about this man that Ed disliked and distrusted.

True, the same could be said for most of the men in the army. They were trained killers, when all was said and done. Yet the majority apart from the Welsh men of Erbin's vintaine had shown him sympathy and kindness, Ed thought.

'You all right, lad?' Gil said now, breaking into his thoughts.

'My feet are sore, my shoulders chafe from these bags and my belly aches from hunger but I won't die of any of them,' Ed said.

'You have a good sense of humour, boy. It's lucky, we all need it here.'

Yes, it was true that the kindness of men like Gil and Walt and Jack, and poor Will and Matt, was often gruff, yet it was kindly given, and that was the most important thing for Ed. He was beginning to feel, for the first time ever, as though he was a wanted, useful member of the vintaine. Gil hadn't needed to ask for him, but had done so anyway.

Only Berenger didn't appreciate him.

'My thanks for asking for me to come with you,' Ed said.

Gil looked down at him with a twisted smile. 'You didn't want to go with Berenger, did you?'

'He's the b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of a Winchester goose,' Ed mimicked.

'Son of a wh.o.r.e, eh? Your language is developing nicely,' Gil chuckled. 'Why do you think that?'

'Because I can say and do nothing that will please him. Anything I do say, he derides or pulls to pieces to make me look foolish. Today, after that fight, he insulted me. I don't deserve that: it's not fair. I don't even report to him any more. I am with the gynour, with Archibald, not with the vintaine, but does he show me any kindness or mercy? No!'

'You know he was once like you?'

'Who, Berenger?'

'Aye. His parents were killed, and he would have died too, if the King hadn't taken pity and seen to him. He saw his mother killed, and his father, so I heard. He doesn't like to have youngsters with him in battle now, and if he must have them, he dislikes those who speak too much of killing. He believes it's better for boys to be spared the sight of death, and also the risk of their own death.'

'What of it? I'm no boy!'

'Today he killed three boys. You should try to understand him. It was hard for him. I wouldn't care, I've killed too many but Fripper is different. He feels each one.'

'You think so?'

'I know so. None of us want to wage war on the young, Ed. If you meet a man with a sword and kill him in a fair fight, that is good. It warms the heart. To learn that you have killed a youngster does not.'

'I came here to slay as many French people as possible. They killed my family, and I wanted revenge but now we are committing the same atrocities they did against us.'

'Good!' Gil said with approval. He slapped Ed's back so hard, the boy almost fell. 'You're learning. Perhaps you will become a soldier yourself. If you do, make sure you avoid the same mistakes so many others make.' His face grew bleak and he stared into the distance.

'What, killing the young?'

'Aye and of being found out,' he murmured.

Geoff rode along with a feeling of disquiet. It was good to have something to occupy his mind other than Beatrice. The others were treating him once more as they had before. But still, this area felt dangerous.

The roadway was broad, and every so often they would find that the plain had a little rise, with cleared land for pasture or planting, but for much of the way, the trail they followed took them through woods and stands of trees, perfect for ambushes. It was a relief when at last they came out into the open and saw before them the broad sweep of a fresh road.

'Christ Jesus!' Jack swore under his breath, and Geoff followed the direction of his gaze, seeing a strong, walled town before them. There was already a fight going on. Clear on the air they could hear the din of battle: shouting, screaming, the clash of weapons and the thundering of a siege-weapon against the gates.

'They have moved on faster than I expected,' Sir John said wearily. 'Look at that! It'll be well nigh impossible to extricate them once they feel that they have a modic.u.m of success. Those fools think that they can blunder their way inside without trouble.'

'Then we'd best hurry and call them away,' Berenger said.

Geoff saw his eyes go to him, and he nodded at once. 'Yes. I'm ready.'

'Ride on, then and Jack, you go too. We'll be along shortly.'

'I will ride with them,' Sir John said.

'I would advise against it,' Berenger said. 'Better that they see it's only men like themselves, more poor warriors, than a rich knight.'

'Fair enough,' Sir John said. 'So, what now? Ride on towards the town?'

'I think so.'

That was the last Geoff heard as he and Jack trotted off. 'Look out for Frenchmen,' he muttered, and Jack nodded.

The land was prodigiously flat here, Geoff noted. Large ripples were the closest things to hills, but were nothing compared with the hills of his native lands.

He missed his home. The thick woods and forests, the swift-flowing streams and brooks, the hills with their pastures for the hill-farmers and shepherds, the strips in the communal fields. He could almost smell the thick loamy soil near his home, the house in the woods not far from the Avon, in which he had fathered his children with his wife.

But he would never see them again. The thought made his throat close up, and he had to wipe at his eyes with a terrible sadness.

They were close to the town now, and Jack rose in his stirrups, shouting and waving his arm. It was enough to distract Geoff from his grim mood, and he began to copy his companion.

The men at the walls turned to glare at the newcomers. They had worked hard, in the short time they had been here. Palisades and a number of scaling ladders had been constructed of timber liberated from the nearby woods. A siege engine had been thrown together, brought from King Edward's siege train, from the look of it. And on all sides men bellowed and fired arrows at the Frenchmen who dared show themselves at the walls. A team worked with a huge ram resting on a wagon, slamming it at the gates with abandon, while stones hurtled towards them from above. Even as Geoff and Jack reached the men, there was a gout of flame as a vat of oil was tipped over them, but luckily only two were superficially burned. The others dropped their holds and ran away a short distance until the worst of the flames were burned through, and then they went back to their charred wagon and ram.

'Who's in charge here?' Geoff demanded of the first man.

He was a heavy-set fellow with a round bearded face and an almost entirely bald head. 'Who wants to know?' he replied.

Geoff jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 'Sir John de Sully, knight banneret, on behalf of Edward of Woodstock.'

'Really? And why would my Lord Edward be so interested in us here then, eh?'

'What is your name?'

'I am Ham of Bristelmestune, master, and I'm the vintener of this group of felons and cut-throats,' he grinned.

'Well, Master Ham, you should know that the King's express orders are that the whole army should be moving because the French army is too close to us already. And if we don't keep moving, they will overtake us.'

'Who cares?' The man snapped his fingers dismissively. 'If they come, we'll fight 'em. You know we can beat the French on any battlefield we've shown that already. Let 'em come and see what happens when they meet a real army.'

'Yeah, and if they were to appear here right now the whole French army surrounding you here, and beating you like a hammer beating a nail against the town's walls, do you really think you'd survive? Are your brains in your ta.r.s.e that you think you can fight the whole of the French army on ground that suits them, not us?'

As he spoke, Geoff was aware of the man's eyes going behind him, and he thought that the rest of the vintaine with Sir John had come to join them. It was suitable timing, he thought, just as he mentioned the idea of the sudden appearance of the French.

Ham turned and bellowed orders. Then he pulled off his metal cap. 'You could have warned us,' he hissed to Geoff.

Geoff shrugged. 'I relayed the King's orders, that's all. Get a move on.'

'We'll come with all speed. Tell my Lord Edward of Woodstock that we'll extricate ourselves as quickly as we can.'

Geoff nodded, turned his pony then sat gaping.

The whole of the English army had appeared behind him, and now straggled in a ragged column over the plain.

Ed felt his legs beginning to falter. They had already covered so many miles in the last few days since leaving Paris, and now, with the load he was carrying, and the weariness of the long distance, he felt as though he must fall with every stumble.

It was a relief when Tyler gave a shout and the little party stopped. There ahead were more men a second party of English soldiers who had been scouring the land for provisions.

'How much further?' Ed asked as he allowed his load to tumble to the ground.

'Until we find the army? I don't know,' Gil admitted, but before he could say more, Tyler called out.

'There is a monastery two miles north of us. It has a rich t.i.the barn, with stores from the area, and there are cattle and pigs for the taking. What do you say?'

'We were told to return to the army,' Ed said.

'Yes,' Gil said. 'But if we find more food and drink, that won't matter.'

'Is that all that is in his mind?' Ed asked.

'It's a monastery,' Gil said. 'Any man's mind will turn to gold and silver: but there could be food too.'

'I don't like this,' Ed confessed. 'G.o.d will not reward us if we attack His churches.'

'He won't object to us taking a little food and drink from these priests and monks,' Gil said rea.s.suringly. 'He will know we need to eat to be able to do His work, and it's only natural that we should seek food from any source.'

Ed was not convinced. So now another monastery was to be sacked and looted.

To his mind, the English were now the criminals. And he was one of them.

Berenger was glad to see Geoff and Jack return. They rode along with the rest of the army, for once not scouting for the enemy at the front, but in the midst of the main groups of fighting men.

'There are benefits to being in the lead, you see,' Sir John chuckled. The dust from thousands of boots and hooves was rising all around them in a cloud, clawing their way up Berenger's nostrils and irritating his eyes with tiny particles of grit.

'd.a.m.n this dust!' Sir John muttered under his breath. How are your men?'

Berenger shot him a look. 'They are well enough. The marching is getting to them, and it's hard to see long-standing comrades die. We've lost several now.'

'I know of Will and . . . that man James. Who else?'

'Matt died today. And of the newer recruits we collected in the last muster, three or four are dead. Two others are badly injured. One will come back, the other won't.'

'So, of twenty, you've lost five or six?'

'We never were twenty. When we left Portsmouth we were four under our number. Now, we're half-strength.'

'The boy?'

'Yes. But he's gone, too.' Berenger met Sir John's stare. 'He had some trouble with the Welshmen, as I told you. In Caen, after the sack, they found him and tried to hang him. Apparently they mistreated him before he met us, before we sailed, and they held a grudge, or wanted to silence him.'

'Oh, yes. That was why you attacked them, I recall.'