Hundred Years War: Fields Of Glory Part 20

It was perhaps six leagues to Pont-de-l'Arche, and Berenger and the others covered much of the distance at a trot, closely followed by the main bulk of the army.

The land here was flat, and Berenger, sweating in the heat and parched as the dust rose on all sides, kept a wary eye over the river. Sir John de Sully's words came back to him, and the thought that they might be prevented from crossing was always present in his mind.

The town came into view, and his heart quailed. A strong fortress had sprung up on this side of the river to protect the bridge that brought so much trade and wealth to the citizens. It had a good wall, and towers rose to a great height. It would not be easy to storm this quickly, but storm it they must, if they were to take the bridge.

Sir John de Sully met Berenger as they approached.

'A strong fortress, Master,' the knight called.

'Aye, Sir John.' Berenger squinted at the walls against the bright sunshine. 'It'd take a good week to conquer, even if the French King had not ma.s.sed an army nearby.'

'And they can use the bridge to reinforce the place,' Sir John noted. 'Yes. This will not be easy.'

Berenger was surprised to see that for once the knight appeared concerned. 'We shall cross, though, even if not here.'

'When, though and where?'

Ed the Donkey trailed behind the men. He was happier walking alongside the cart with Beatrice, and even when the men began to halt, staring at their latest target, the walled town of Pont-de-L'Arche, he continued to trudge along beside her. In his mind, he was back at home in England, sitting in a tavern with a mug of ale in his hand, singing and hiccoughing along with the tunes as men sang of the sea and of fishing. Those had been happy days, despite the loneliness of being an orphan.

It was with surprise that he heard the sudden blaring of the horns, the call to arms. The archers stopped to string their bows, and gathered at the side of the cart to grab spare strings, bracers, tabs and arrows, and he hastened to a.s.sist them, startled out of his lethargy.

A shout from the men-at-arms, and soldiers rushed back to the wagons, collecting ladders of all sizes. There was little chatter and no laughter now. No one was happy at the thought of trying to clamber up a ladder thrown against a high wall while defenders aimed missiles from above, or poured burning oil upon them all. Men's faces were drawn and their hands twitched, Ed noticed. Little nervous tuggings at belts or buckles, a hand sometimes rising to a cheek or an eye, sometimes pulling at a bottom lip or an earlobe as if to aid concentration.

There came the dull pounding of drums, and as trumpets blew, the first men began to run for the walls.

Archers were already positioned in their order of a staggered harrow, with wedges of men rather than straight lines, in order that each man in the fore should have the maximum field of fire. On command they could direct their aim from left to right without impeding each other's shooting. Already now the archers were bending their bows, drawing and loosing a deadly storm upon the walls. As they drew and released, the arrows rose thick in the sky.

It was beautiful and horrifying, Ed thought.

'Daft beggars!'

He turned to see Archibald sitting on the bench of his wagon a few feet away, his thumbs tucked into his ap.r.o.n, thoughtfully studying the walls.

'Sorry, Master?'

'We can't capture that place. It's too ma.s.sive for us to scale the walls quickly, and if we don't, there's no possibility of taking it before the French army arrives.' Archibald set his head to one side. 'If only I had time, maybe a barrel or two to spare, and a few engineers to dig beneath that wall there, I could set it and tamp it, and make such a blast as would be spoken of for a hundred years!' He grinned happily at the thought.

Ed shivered. He remembered the snaking, hissing line of burning powder. 'You think you could?'

'Given the powder, I could raze the whole town to the ground,' Archibald said, and then winked. 'But I would need a lot of powder, you understand!'

Ed nodded without comprehending. 'I hate it,' he said.

'What, my powder?'

'I saw it kill my father,' Ed said quietly.

Before Archibald could reply, they both heard the bellowing from Granda.r.s.e to 'Get your skinny little backside moving, you son of a Winchester strumpet!' and Ed sprang to the cart and the sheaves of arrows.

The men were sending prodigious numbers of arrows at the town. Ed hurried, planting arrows before Clip and scarcely keeping up with his rate of fire, while other men were glad just to have a sheaf dropped into the wicker baskets standing before them.

Ed hastened back and forth, but even as he did so, he saw that there was movement on the north bank of the river. 'Look!' he told the vintener.

Berenger followed his pointing finger, and gave a groan at the sight of the French army. 'They're already here.'

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 wh.o.r.e.'

'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 G.o.d. 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 a.s.sail 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 s.l.u.t 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 a.s.sault 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 a.s.sault. 'Their King seeks to tie us to this sh.o.r.e, 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. Beatrice 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 Granda.r.s.e 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 b.u.g.g.e.r-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 a.s.sault, in fact, that could be performed by an outlaw. G.o.d 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.