Hundred Years War: Fields Of Glory Part 31

Sir John was glad to be asked to go and test the defences.

After the French militia had tried to bring the English to battle, the English army had been delayed once more, collecting arrows from the field, despatching the enemy wounded, and reforming their men into a line of march. If their intention had been to hold up the English, the French militia could hardly have succeeded more effectively, Sir John thought, but he kept the thought to himself.

The army would continue to Airaines, the Earl of Warwick told him, but Sir John must ride north, to the Somme, and test the defences. It was vital that the English army found a means of crossing the river. They must not be constrained as they had been at the Seine, but must punch their way over and continue up to the county of Ponthieu.

'Those lands were the King's own until this d.a.m.ned war,' Warwick said. 'Once we are there, our situation will improve.'

'Because of the people? You think we can win more men to the King's flag?' Sir John asked.

'Perhaps some, although I wouldn't trust any of the locals that much. You can never tell how a peasant's mind will work. No, I was thinking more that we know that territory. There are places where we can use the land to our advantage.'

'I see.'

The Earl nodded. 'The King used to own Ponthieu, and he has ridden over it, as have his advisers. We all know it. There are plenty of places where we can take on a French army many times the size of ours and utterly destroy it. It's been the idea all along, to harry the French and Philippe until he felt compelled to do something to remove us and our threat. We wanted him to chase us up here and into Ponthieu. Our only concern is that he may have already managed to leap beyond us. If he has, and he's blocked our path into the north,' the Earl said, his face grim, 'then we shall find the next days rather more exciting than we had hoped.'

Now, taking with him a party of six men-at-arms, Richard, and three vintaines of archers, Sir John was riding to the Somme.

'Where do we ride first?' his esquire asked.

'Due north. There was a bridge there, I think. Then we look for other crossings, whether bridges or fords, and gain an impression of the defences, such as they are.'

'And if the defences are strong?'

Sir John didn't answer.

They rode on and found the bridge or where it had stood. It had been destroyed in recent days, and would not be easy to rebuild. The pilings had been removed, so another attempt to throw a tree over the waters would fail.

Riding westwards, following the line of the river, Sir John began to appreciate the immensity of the task before them. The Somme, it appeared, was impa.s.sable. It would have taken all the engineers in the army weeks to construct a bridge strong enough to let them all over, and as for fords, they were a forlorn hope. Nowhere were the waters shallow enough to allow the horses over, let alone the wagons and special weaponry.

The knight thought of his old manors at Iddesleigh and Rookford and wished he was there now. His wife would be working in the dairy at this time of day, making the most of the cool room to leave the cheeses to settle. He could see her in his mind's eye, lifting the heavy buckets and filling the pans, or stirring the curds, bending backwards to ease the strain after churning the b.u.t.ter.

He should be there with her. This journey was a fool's errand. A man of Sir John's age ought to be at his manor, enjoying the twilight of his life, not putting his life in peril.

When this chevauchee was ended, he vowed, he would return and never leave his sh.o.r.es again. But for now, he had to concentrate on surviving. It was very likely that he would not make it back to England. And that belief began to grow stronger as they rode on.

Most bridges they came across had been systematically destroyed, bar a few but those all had many men guarding them. At two bridges there were fortified towns, and their strong encircling walls stood between the army and the bridges. It would require enormous resources to lay siege to them before anyone could cross the bridges behind. And if there was one a.s.set which the English army lacked, it was time. The longer they were held here, without escape, the more likely it was that the French would be able to impose a stranglehold on all provisions, water and other necessities. The army would be bottled up, with the river on one side, the sea on the other, and no hope of escape.

This was futile. They were all doomed.

It was dark when they returned to the army at Airaines and reported to the Earl of Warwick.

'Well?' he demanded.

They were standing in the hall of a great house commandeered by the Royal Family, and the Prince was present, his advisers all about him; however, the thicker cl.u.s.ter of men stood about the other man: the King.

The King smiled, nodding encouragingly to the knight. 'Sir John, I know you have been busily scouting the river for us. Tell us your conclusions.'

The Prince and his household looked on hopefully, while the King maintained his steady gaze.

'Your Royal Highness, my Lords, we rode to the bridge at Long, north of here, and thence took the road westwards to Abbeville and beyond. Every undefendable bridge is thrown down and destroyed. The smaller ones are guarded by large forces that would make any pa.s.sage enormously difficult. Abbeville and Amiens are well guarded, with French soldiers installed. Both have walls as strong as any fortress, and enough men and provisions to hold them for longer than we could spend investing them.'

'It is as I feared, then. The French reached the river before us,' the King said heavily.

'I fear so, my Lord. We carried on in the hope of finding another place to cross. I had thought that there could be a ford farther up towards the estuary, but my hopes were dashed.'

'Do you mean to say that we cannot cross the river?'

'The land becomes ever more marshy, with patches of sedge and reed and treacherous sands. It is possible that there is somewhere nearer the sea where we may cross, but I saw no sign of anywhere suitable. If we could pa.s.s through Longpre, or perhaps Fontaine-sur-Somme, we might be able to reach the river, but any such pa.s.sage would be hard-fought. There is no doubt that the French are determined to keep us here.'

'And that is no surprise. We are trapped. The river before us, the sea behind us, and the army of the French approaching. Philippe will know that we have run short of food. Without supplies, our men will grow weak. Without an escape, this will be our grave. But take heart!' the King said. 'G.o.d is with us. We shall cross this river.'

'I do not see where,' Sir John said quietly.

'Neither do I, Sir John. But there is a crossing there must be. All we need to do is find it.'

22 August Before dawn Berenger saw Granda.r.s.e appear, lumbering through the cool mists like a misshapen goblin from a nightmare. His face was twisted into a scowl, and Berenger could see his mouth moving as he muttered dark imprecations.

'All right, where are the lads?' he said as he came closer.

'Standing ready,' Berenger answered. 'What is it?'

Granda.r.s.e gave him a look from beneath beetling brows. 'They'll be glad to know we have a nice new job.'

'Oh yes?'

'We have to cross the river, right? But because we took our ballocking time to get here, the mother-swyving French reached it first,' Granda.r.s.e explained. 'They have men at every crossing from here to b.l.o.o.d.y Dover!'

Berenger listened as Granda.r.s.e told him of Sir John's ride. 'It'll be a fight, then,' he said.

'We'll have to try to get through the b.u.g.g.e.rs, over the bridge, and out to the plains beyond. If we don't, we know what'll happen.'

There was no need for him to elaborate. All soldiers knew what the outcome would be for an army squeezed against natural obstacles by an implacable and more numerous enemy.

'Is there nowhere we could fight them around here?' Berenger asked hopefully.

'No. The King is desperate to cross the river. This is the last place he wants to fight his battle,' Granda.r.s.e said.

Berenger felt his hope dashed like a wave against rocks, and he turned away bitterly. 'I see.'

Clip had overheard them, and this was his cue. 'Sweet Jesus!' he burst out. 'He told us the whole point of coming here was to f.u.c.king fight! He believed in his cause so strongly, he brought the biggest army he's ever mustered, with the sole intention of forcing the French to come and attack us, didn't he? What was the f.u.c.king point of it if, as soon as they are near, we turn and run? We were demanding our battle all the way to Paris, and since then we've done everything we could to avoid it. They offered to fight us outside Paris, and he brought us all the way up to here. Now we have the French at our tail, we should turn, like a boar held at bay, and show our tusks!'

'Run at them to be spitted on the hunter's lance, you reckon, Clip?' Granda.r.s.e snarled. 'Get your brain working, man! You have it stuck in your a.r.s.e from what you're saying. You think we should fight them here? Look about you! See the reeds, the flat marshes? There's no stable ground for a fight. Aye, the King wants his battle, but not here, not just outside Paris, nor anywhere else when he's not perfectly certain of the land. He has places in mind only a day or two's march from here.'

'Huh!' Clip said grumpily. 'I'm thinking this was just another quick dash to France to win booty, and he never meant to force the French to battle. I've seen little enough fighting spirit.'

'You keep your mouth shut!' Granda.r.s.e hissed, and Clip sullenly moved away.

When he was gone, Granda.r.s.e turned to Berenger. 'Get a grip on your lads, Frip. If they hear Clip moaning on like this, they'll lose heart and men without hope don't win wars. Remember that! If you want to get back to England safe and well, the only way you'll do it is by keeping up the spirits of your boys. Don't let them whine and bellyache.'

'I'll do my best,' Berenger said. About him figures were moving in the wreaths of mist. 'What now?'

'We are the most proficient team, Frip, didn't you know?' Granda.r.s.e said with a sour leer. 'Who else would Sir John and the Earl of Warwick ask for when they need scouts? We're to be the first to go and force the crossing. It'll be glory all the way for us, man!'

'Ballocks,' Berenger muttered.

'Why us? Doesn't the King have any other poor b.u.g.g.e.rs he doesn't like?' Jon Furrier said.

They were crouched on the ground nearby as Berenger, on one knee, told them the news.

'We'll all get killed this day,' Clip said with a twisted grin, and for the first time, Berenger wondered if he was speaking from conviction.

'We won't all get killed. You can, Clip, you thieving s.c.r.o.t.e,' Berenger said, 'but I'm going to get back. And when I reach home, I'll have a bag full of French gold to buy myself a little cottage, and I'll sit back while my woman cooks for me and brews the best ale in Warwick. I'm sure of one b.l.o.o.d.y thing, lads, and that is that I am not going to lie in French soil. I shall be going back and so will the rest of you, if you're careful.'

'How do we do that?' Jon demanded. 'At the front, we'll be cut down like saplings.'

'We'll do what we do best, my friend. We'll fight side-by-side, and we'll protect each other. I'll get the Donkey back to help us. With him to bring us more arrows, we can keep up a steady fire against any enemy. Perhaps we can draw them to attack us, and use our bows to hold them off?'

'We can try,' Clip said, 'but they'd only do that if they were fools, and so far, Frip, they haven't shown much stupidity, have they? They've not risked their men in all-out attacks like we want. Not once. This French King knows his way around a fight.'

'Aye, the King may, but his men down here may not. Who knows but that the man at the bridge here isn't some long-headed fool with no understanding of combat? Remember how we took St-L? Who would have thought we could have stormed the place so quickly? Half a day and it was ours, wasn't it? If they'd held the gates against us, we'd not have done that so quickly or so well, but because the townspeople were scared and pulled back to the island, we took it. We can do the same here.'

'Aye, Frip. So long as the defenders have an idiot in charge like those at St-L,' Jon observed drily.

'Let's hope they do then. Right, lads, the main thing is, keep together, look after each other, don't panic, and we'll all make it home.'

'Yeah, right,' sighed Clip.

It was deeply unsettling when he didn't repeat his usual whining warning. That was the moment when Berenger knew that Clip really believed they would all die. Looking at the rest of his surviving vintaine, Berenger could see that they all had the same thought.

The village was called Hangest-sur-Somme, Berenger heard later. A scruffy little collection of cottages and small houses at the side of the river amidst the marshes and reeds. Behind it, the grey, broad ma.s.s of the river made its sluggish progress towards the sea. If Berenger could, he would willingly have stolen a boat to escape to the sea. No matter what Granda.r.s.e said, he reckoned the chevauchee was in its last hours. The might of the French army was out there somewhere, whether to the north or due east, he didn't know, but he was certain now, no matter what he said to the vintaine, that their raid was ending.

They approached Hangest with the Earl of Warwick on his horse, a collection of men-at-arms all about him, while the archers plodded along behind, Granda.r.s.e in the lead. Berenger and Roger's men were to be in the front rank: 'Aye, same as usual,' as Clip grumbled.

'You scared of 'em?' Tyler sneered.

Berenger glanced at Roger. If he'd had his way, Tyler would have been punished for his looting when Gil was hanged, but for now all the archers were needed. Still, when he had an opportunity, Berenger vowed to himself that he would see Tyler pay the debt.

As they drew nearer to the village, the bridge came into full view, and they rode towards it with a stirring of hope.

'Have they forgotten this one, Frip?' Clip asked.

'No,' Berenger said, but even he felt optimistic. So far, whenever there had been a danger of their being caught in the open by the French, they had somehow managed to salvage a miracle. Perhaps the French had indeed forgotten this one bridge. If so, they could quickly storm across and form a defensive position on the other bank, just as they had before crossing the Seine, and then the rest of the army could join them. It was a delicious thought. He could almost taste the sweet glory of victory in his mouth.

'Come on, Clip,' Jack called. 'Aren't you going to remind us that we'll all die?'

'Aye, well,' Clip said. He looked uncomfortable.

'Clip?' Jack went on. 'If you don't curse us, you old s.h.i.t, we'll blame you when things go wrong.'

But Clip said nothing. Berenger felt his elation dissipate like morning mist as the other men exchanged glances and began to chew at their lips or fiddle with their kit. They were all growing convinced that Clip's att.i.tude was prophetic. If he didn't dare complain about their death, it was for good reason.

'Come on, boys!' Berenger said. Jack and a couple of men rallied, but others remained looking nervous, their eyes hooded.

Three men in armour trotted forward. They pa.s.sed around the edge of a couple of cottages, and the rest of the men watched them in antic.i.p.ation, all praying that the way to the bridge was clear and safe.

But as they were pa.s.sing the last cottage, they suddenly stopped. One horse reared, and the second man drew his sword and began to charge, while the third wheeled round and rode back at full gallop.

He didn't make it. As he pelted past the houses, there was a flurry of movement. He was crouched low over his mount's neck, but that was not enough to save him. The men all saw the explosion of blood from his mouth. A crossbow bolt had hit him low in the back, and must have ridden through his mail and up into his breast. He clung on desperately, then slowly rolled from his horse. Of the other two, nothing could be seen, but their disappearance was enough warning.

'Archers! Forward!' Sir John shouted, and Berenger looked to either side at his men. They were all glowering, including Clip.

'Keep close, lads,' Berenger said. 'Remember, shoot fast and shoot well. Donkey, you need to hurry, understand me? Just keep bringing fresh arrows, no matter what. Right, boys, here we go!'

He clapped spurs to his new pony, a st.u.r.dy little brute with an evil temper, and the whole ma.s.s of archers rode down to join the Earl and his household. Sir John was there, but he broke away from the Earl to join his archers, his esquire at his side.

'Don't worry about them, Fripper,' he said. 'These look to me like Genoese or some other mercenaries. If you scare them with your arrows, we can win through them!'

There was a suppressed excitement about him as he spoke, and Berenger felt his own spirits lift. The knight's enthusiasm was infectious. The men stood stringing bows, while boys came to take the reins and lead the horses away.

Ahead of them, the men of the village had decided that the need for concealment was past. Dozens of crossbowmen darted out and sheltered behind the great pavise shields gripped in place by their companions. Behind them, ranks of spearmen stood clumped in reluctant, uneven lines, and behind them, the men-at-arms sat on their horses, the great beasts pawing at the ground, eager for the battle to begin.

Each English archer had a quiver, which they set on the ground before them. All strung their bows and stood ready, while Donkey and Beatrice brought the cart nearer and began to dispense arrows. Sir John and Richard Bakere remained on horseback and cajoled and bullied succeeding groups of archers into their positions, leaving a good s.p.a.ce between them, through which the men-at-arms could ride.

'Archers, are you ready?' Sir John roared. 'Nock arrows!'

There was a ripple of movement. Berenger felt the smooth click as his arrow was attached to the string.

'Archers, draw!'

The familiar tension tugging at his back muscles, shoulder muscles, belly muscles. The taut almost-pain at the base of his neck as the string came back and tickled his eyelashes. He felt the strain of the bow in his left hand, felt the urgent keenness of the arrow to be released. The point of the arrow, sleek, black, gleaming silver where it had been sharpened, was aimed up at a cloud, over the cottage some hundred and fifty yards away.

'Loose!'

The release ran through Berenger's body, from both arms to his back, along his spine. The bow gave a lurch, and the arrow sped on its way, and as he watched its path, he saw the hundreds of identical arrows leaping up into the sky on all sides, their pa.s.sage marked by a low sound like a strong wind in a forest. He grabbed another arrow and fitted it to the string, drew and loosed, and again, and again. The noise of fletchings taking to the air was all about him, the thrumming as each string slipped from its tab filled his ears until all he could sense was the noise of their launch and flight.

'Archers! To me!'

Suddenly there was the rattle and thunder of horses cantering, and Berenger turned to see that the Earl and his household were pounding towards the village.

Granda.r.s.e was roaring now: 'Come on, boys! You going to leave the knights and esquires to take all the glory! Berenger, Roger, follow me! Let's get our own!'

He began to lurch off down the hill after the men-at-arms, and Berenger picked up his quiver and slung it over his shoulder as he set off after the old warrior, waving to his men. 'Come on, Clip. Jack, get a move on!'

The crossbowmen were withdrawing already, and the Earl and his men were almost at the lance-men. But then the line of foot-soldiers parted, and the French hors.e.m.e.n sprang through.

Berenger ran now. His bow and quiver were held to him under his left hand, while his right reached for his long dagger's hilt. It should be knife-work from here, he thought, but even as he did so, the trap was sprung.

Where before there had been thirty or more men-at-arms on horseback on the French side, now he saw a fresh body of knights and esquires appear from between the houses. It was a second, stronger party designed, Berenger suddenly realised, to cut off the Earl and his men.