29 - The Oath (30 page)

‘What quality is the rebuilding?’ Sir Stephen asked.

‘Not first quality, perhaps, but good,’ Sir Laurence said defensively. The Coroner’s words sounded like a criticism, and that wounded his pride. ‘The city is strong enough to withstand a serious enemy for some weeks; the castle is stronger still.’

He ran though the items in his stores. Food was good, while water was better, for with all this rain, the cisterns would be full. He had store of brimstone, charcoal and saltpetre, and barrels of pitch to be heated. When the enemy tried to storm the place, they would find themselves meeting with stronger resistance than they could have expected.

‘The garrison is ready?’ Sir Stephen asked languidly.

‘They’ll serve,’ Sir Laurence responded.

‘I hope so,’ Earl Hugh said.

Sir Laurence could see in his face that same determination mingled with despair. It made him sorry for the old man, but he had no time to worry about him. The Earl would have to resolve his concerns some other way.

‘Do not worry, my lord Earl,’ Sir Stephen said. ‘They look terrible in such an order, but they will have the devil’s own task if they want to break in here. You will be safe for a while.’

‘A while, yes,’ the Earl said.

‘And then,’ Sir Stephen continued, ‘we shall have to hope that they will be happy to accept our terms for surrender.’

Sir Laurence gaped at him. ‘
Surrender
? You are thinking of surrender? They have not yet fired a single arrow!’

‘Sir Laurence, we need to be realistic. Look at all those men out there. Do you think the Queen wants them all to be here, tied up in front of our city? No. So what we must do is decide when we can give up the castle on the most advantageous terms. Because if we do not, if we say that we shall fight to the last man, we will be crushed and every man within the castle executed. So, no. We shall have to surrender. It’s simply a matter of how long it will take.’

Earl Hugh leaned back and eyed Sir Stephen. ‘We will
not
surrender the castle,’ he said. ‘The King demanded that we hold it, and hold it I shall. With or without your help.’

‘I shall not fail in my duty, my lord Earl,’ Sir Stephen said with a deep bow.

‘Good. I would not wish to have so noble a knight held in the dungeon for sedition,’ Earl Hugh responded, his teeth gritted.

Sir Stephen’s smile was wiped from his face. ‘Do you seek to threaten me, my lord? I would not allow any man to call me coward or traitor.’

‘I said nothing about your courage, Sir Stephen,’ the Earl noted.

Sir Laurence saw how Sir Stephen squared up to the Earl, who was himself standing more firmly, his legs fixed as though they had been planted in the stone slabs of the floor. His eyes were unblinking beneath his heavy brows.

‘They have artillery, my lord, Sir Stephen – look!’ he said quickly.

The tension dissipated as the two walked, one either side of Sir Laurence, to gaze out over the fields.

There were several slow-moving ox wagons, the great beasts lowing and plodding on under the constant urging of their drivers. On the back were the immense timbers that would be raised to make the siege engines.

‘That is that, then,’ said the Earl. ‘They will begin to fire tomorrow, I expect.’

Banks of the River Severn

As the rain lessened and they could see ahead more clearly, Sir Ralph tried to urge his party into a slightly faster gait. It was not easy. The two friars were unused to riding, and their inability to maintain their balance on slippery leather made the going all the more laboured.

Sir Ralph was reluctant to take an exposed route, because of the ever-present risk of being apprehended by a Hainaulter. While Sir Ralph had a letter given him by the Queen which gave him safe-conduct, he did not wish to put it to the test with an armed group of men, who might decide to try their blades on human flesh and search the contents of his purse rather than listen to him explain what the words meant.

But if for preference he would have taken them along a riverbed, the fact was that the streams were all filled with water, and it was too dangerous.

‘Bernard, you ride on a little before us,’ he said. Alexander and Pagan could ride to the rear of the cavalcade, and with Bernard spying out the way ahead, all should be well. ‘Keep your eyes open for any dangers.’

He didn’t know this part of the country very well. There were bridges up to the north, if he followed the line of the River Severn, but they were leagues away. It was for that reason that he had decided to come here, back to the ferry which had brought them from Chepstow. That was at least a direct route, and it should take them further away from the Queen and her men. With luck, they would not meet any of her mercenaries.

Then Bernard lifted a hand urgently, and Sir Ralph threw a look all about them.

They were riding around a small wood, thick with brambles and thorns. It would be difficult to ride in there, for the horses would balk. To their right was a large pasture, with nowhere to conceal themselves. If they were attacked there was only one option – to retreat.

He hurried forward, gazing at Bernard questioningly.

‘Men. Look!’

There was a fire. Smoke rose and trailed into the sky from a hollow up ahead, and as he stared, Sir Ralph saw a head appear over the edge. A lean man, dark-haired, climbed up and stared at them without flinching or hiding.

Sir Ralph studied him a moment. Then, ‘Wait here with the others, Bernard. I will be back shortly.’

Baldwin had made them ride fairly hard as soon as they were over the river, but he still had reservations about Jack’s riding ability. The boy was sat on his horse like a man with a spear’s shaft stuck in his spine. He didn’t slouch, but instead his manner was one of utter terror as he jolted and lurched. He had fallen twice this morning, and now had a large bruise over his temple that was blueing already. Thomas Redcliffe had muttered to himself at the sight, but the boy’s plight was enough to stir the active sympathy of his wife. She insisted they take a halt to allow Jack to recover himself when he fell the second time, and Baldwin agreed. They had made a temporary camp in this hollow, and set a fire to warm their aching bones.

The sight of the men approaching was initially alarming. The two in front appeared to be wearing armour, which must mean that the Queen’s forces were close, Baldwin thought. These two in particular were professional soldiers, by the way they stopped and looked carefully around them before continuing.

‘Good day,’ he called when the one rider trotted forward.

‘And to you. Friend, you are travelling far?’

‘We ride away from Bristol. We do not wish to be held in a siege.’

‘Neither do we. The Queen’s men are close to encircling the city.’

Baldwin nodded, and now he could see that there were two friars in the other man’s entourage, he felt more comfortable. Friars were rarely involved in fighting. ‘You are welcome to join us, friend.’

‘I have to ride to the ferry,’ Sir Ralph answered.

‘We go there too.’

The knights exchanged a look. ‘I would be grateful for company,’ Baldwin said at last.

Before long, the friars and Sir Ralph were seated with Baldwin near the fire, while Pagan and Alexander saw to their mounts under Bernard’s watchful eye.

Baldwin too kept a careful eye, on the woods themselves, and on the lanes at either side.

But most of all, he kept his eyes on these strangers.

Fourth Saturday after the Feast of St Michael
²⁶

Bristol

Margaret lay wide awake in their chamber that long, weary night, wishing to Heaven that she was already in the safety of the castle, and not out here in the city, feeling vulnerable.

The sounds of preparation for the siege were all around. Men were hammering on doors, rousing householders and shouting orders, while smiths beat at metal on their anvils. Other men were building obstacles in the streets, taking doors and furniture to block thoroughfares and create killing areas where the invaders could be trapped and slaughtered. There was one shrill scream of agony early in the morning that made Simon stir for a moment and roll over, but apart from that, he slept through it all.

She wished she could do the same. Lying here in the bed, with her husband snoring gently, Perkin whiffling in his little truckle bed, and Hugh grunting and mumbling over by the doorway, she felt restless and exhausted.

In the background was the steady rumbling of heavy machines, the slow, inexorable journey of the enemy’s massive engines of destruction being levered and hauled into position so that they might pound the city into dust. For that was what they wanted, surely: to demolish this city without counting the cost to the people inside.

Yes, she could discern all the sounds of two forces preparing to kill or be killed. The furious effort of one to make defences strong in the few hours that remained; and the ferocious desire in the others outside the walls to get into the city and rob, rape and pillage.

Margaret had no illusions. She knew that if the enemy got inside the city walls, she was certain to be raped. It was not to be borne.

Rising, she fetched her dagger and slipped the thong over her head so that the sheath with the wicked little blade sat between her breasts.

She was not angry or desperate. Instead she felt cold emptiness. All emotions were pointless. No, she knew her position all too well. If any man tried to take her, she would kill him if she could, and in the last instance, she would kill herself.

Banks of the River Severn

They had reached the river late in the afternoon, and there was no sign of the ferry. It could well have been on the opposite shore, but in the darkness, there was no way to tell; even a large fire could have gone unnoticed.

When he returned to Redcliffe and his wife, he found that Sir Ralph and the others had begun to make camp as best they could. There was no shelter to be had, other than that of a few trees. Jack had been given the task of carefully feeding the fire and making sure it didn’t go out. He had succeeded in keeping it smoking gently until Pagan pushed him out of the way and began to tease a full, hot flame from the glowing embers.

Baldwin made himself a bed of branches laid cross-ways over each other. They would be soggy, but better than nothing in this weather. He eyed Sir Ralph’s simple tent with a jealous eye, but resignedly told himself that in his youth he had been happy enough with a simple mattress of branches and the sky as his ceiling. Not that it convinced him. He had been younger then.

It was not only Sir Ralph who had a tent. Roisea and Thomas Redcliffe had a heavy strip of canvas which they spread out over a bent limb, and used some pegs of sharpened sticks to stab the corners into the ground. It made a simple tunnel, in which the two could sleep. Baldwin eyed his own bed without enthusiasm, and decided that he would see what protection he could achieve from hooking his riding cloak to a bush and draping it over his upper body. At least that way his face would remain drier.

It was a relief when dawn broke and he could rise, rubbing his hips. There was no doubt that he was not the fit and healthy, nor the young man he once had been. The branches felt as though they had moulded his very bones to fit them, and the ridges in his flesh felt permanent. His blanket was a soaked mass of wool, and he experimentally twisted it in his hands. Water ran from it in a stream, to his disgust. That explained why he felt so wet and miserable.

He went to the fire, and set about adding some tinder to the warmer part of the grey ashes, and to his surprise, it caught. Working swiftly with small twigs and some more tinder, he soon had a little fire burning, and he prodded Jack until the boy was awake, ordering him to fetch more sticks while he kept the fire going. Before full light they had a good fire blazing, and a pot of water already boiling, with wine warming beside it.

Sir Ralph appeared soon after Jack had supplied a second load of logs, and the man looked as refreshed and contented as a cat after a bowl of cream.

‘The ferry should be over here before long,’ he said.

‘Where will you go then?’ Baldwin asked.

‘The King should be at Cardiff by now. I will ride to him.’

‘I too,’ Baldwin said. He sighed.

‘You are upset?’

‘I do not wish to see the kingdom at war, but I would not break my oath.’

Sir Ralph stared at the fire morosely. ‘We have the duty of service.’

Baldwin would have said something in reply, but before he could speak, he peered over Sir Ralph’s shoulder. ‘Troops!’

The enemy had not seen the fire or the encampment yet. There were only four men, all on horseback, with cheap helms on their heads and for the most part wearing only boiled leather armour without insignia – and no banner, which made them surely mercenaries or felons, Baldwin thought. ‘We must stop them before they can ride back,’ he whispered.