Fields of Glory (24 page)

‘We will look after them as we would our own kin,’ Erbin said, staring at Berenger.

As Berenger turned to go back with Sir John and the archers, all the while he thought he could feel Erbin’s eyes aiming at his back, like spanned crossbows.

Tyler saw the Donkey as he walked to fetch water. The boy had grown since Mark first saw him. Then, he’d been a confused, anxious little fellow, easy to strike in the
dark and rob.

Tyler had thought, when he first saw Ed here in the army, that he would be denounced, proved to be a thief and punished. That would be bad here, under the rigours of martial law. The army knew
few punishments: there was only execution and flogging. That was why he had been forced to invent the stories.

He had told the Welsh contingent about Ed, suggesting that the boy had been spreading malicious rumours about them, and when that didn’t immediately succeed, he began embellishing his
tales. It was a shame that the Welsh hadn’t managed to hang him properly in the city, but there was still time.

For himself, Tyler was content. He had managed to collect a considerable amount of plunder in the last towns and cities, and his pack was growing heavy; and while he was still nervous that the
lad might remember his face from that fight in the alleyway, still he reckoned that the Welsh would do his bidding. And meantime, no one suspected him of having anything to do with it.

Yes, life was good.

Le Neubourg, 6 August

Many of the knights and men-at-arms joined the King that morning for Mass, and Sir John was impressed by the sight of the noblemen. It was the first time he had seen all of them
gathered together in one place, and as he stood in the middle of the church’s nave, he was almost awed.

However in one corner he caught a flash of red, and when he peered, he saw the two Cardinals. Both bent their heads and prayed and participated in the service as a good priest should, but Sir
John saw the poisonous glances that both directed towards the King. This gave him cause for concern. He would not like to see the King alone with them, for even Cardinals had been known to commit
murder.

After the service, he became aware of the Earl of Warwick standing at the doorway and beckoning him. Sir John crossed the floor, pushing past other noblemen who huddled, chatting, laughing and
gambling. ‘My Lord?’

‘Come with me. The King wishes for your company.’

The King had taken a large hall not far from the church, and when Sir John entered after the Earl, King Edward was shrugging off his cloak.

Now in his thirty-fifth year, the King was tall and powerful. Training in the saddle and with weapons had lent him a muscular frame. Long fair hair and his thick moustache and beard framed
handsome features. His air of grave concentration gave him an aura of authority.

Sir John cast a look about the room as the King seated himself and took a goblet of wine from his page. The King’s pages were ranged at the walls, ready to satisfy his every whim, and to
the left stood several men-at-arms as bodyguards.

‘Sir John, come here, I pray,’ the King said quietly. His voice was calm, but there was an underlying tension.

‘Sire?’

‘Some days ago, two Cardinals arrived here. They are emissaries from the Pope, come here to try to negotiate a truce between me and Philippe. I hear that they saw you?’

‘Yes, my Lord, I escorted them.’

‘Did you bring them to me?’

‘No, my Lord. When we reached the Welsh, we left the Cardinals in their care.’

‘I see.’

Sir John was confused. He glanced to the Earl, but the latter was keeping his face as carefully blank as a child’s accused of filching a biscuit. Sir John dared not ask the meaning of the
King’s words.

‘Bring them in!’ the King called after a moment. He waved Sir John and the Earl away, and they walked back to the wall.

After a few moments the two Cardinals were led into the hall through the main entrance from the screens.

Pietro paused in the doorway, either to take stock of the men in the chamber, or to emphasise his importance before walking in; Sir John wasn’t sure which. Then the two Cardinals strode
forward until they were just before the King.

‘Your Majesty, we have been waiting three days to see you,’ Pietro said. His face was rigid with control, but it was clear that his mood was not as calm as his outward appearance
might seem to a casual witness. He was filled with a rage that was almost overwhelming him.

‘I have been busy, my Lord,’ the King said as he studied the men before him. ‘You have messages for me?’

‘We rode here in great haste to communicate the Pope’s alarm at your continued harassment of your cousin the King Philippe.’

‘My
harassment
?’ King Edward repeated.

‘How many of his subjects have you slain already? You persecute the people of this country, and when—’

‘I would remind you, Cardinal, that for many years the French King has attempted to prise from me my possessions in France. First he invaded Guyenne, and demanded the whole of Aquitaine.
He has threatened invasions and—’

‘This is nonsensical! Invade England? Philippe has no such intention.’ The men’s eyes shot to Sir John as he spoke.

Edward snapped his fingers and an esquire stepped forward, passing him a sealed roll. The King unrolled it. ‘Plans for the invasion of England, with the enthusiastic support of Norman
shipmasters, including how to despoil England and bring back her treasure. These plans are dated eight years ago. And you tell me he has no such intention?’

‘It must be in retaliation for your numerous assaults against him and his Kingdom. You realise that he is already, even now, bringing together all his vassals to destroy you?’

‘We await him.’

‘You think this ragtag army will be adequate to stop his advance? You have no idea of your danger! The greatest army in Christendom gathers outside Rouen. King Philippe has proclaimed the
arrière-ban
. You know what that means? Every fighting man of military age hastens to meet him. You have what – ten, perhaps fifteen thousand men? The King of France can demand
five times that paltry number! You have some hundreds of knights, but he has thousands. When battle commences, you will be overwhelmed. He will destroy your forces utterly. Who then will protect
your people? Who will save your towns and cities, when the French army takes its revenge for all that your men have done here in Normandy?’

‘And your suggestion?’

‘The Holy Father wishes you to cease this violent
chevauchée
. There can be no purpose served by continuing this terrible war.’

‘I have a crown to claim.’

‘You have no claim. Your father proved he was vassal to the King of France, and you also.’

‘My claim to the throne is stronger than that of the Valois!’ Edward roared. He stood, towering over the Cardinal, who took a pace back in the face of his anger. ‘You say that
I should retreat, that I should
bow
to the King of France? A true king would have fought me when I landed before. He has never sought to meet me in battle or protect his people.
He
is
no king!’

‘You should have returned to negotiate with the Pope.’

‘The Pope demands that I accept the same territory as my father held. This illegitimate King has stolen my lands! I will not accept merely the return of stolen goods. I demand
more
!
I will take this kingdom at the point of my sword. It is mine, and I am here, in the sight of God, to reclaim it.’

‘The Pope demands that you let us negotiate with the French King on your behalf. We require that you agree, that you remain here, and cease your appalling depredations.’

‘Cease my depredations? This Philippe has sponsored the Scottish to harry the whole of the north of my kingdom, and has already taken my territories in Guyenne, and you tell
me
to
cease? By God, I shall not!’

‘We shall ensure that you have all your lands returned to you. Ponthieu, the Dukedom of Aquitaine, all the lands you seek.’

‘To be held free of the French crown? My own to command?’ Edward challenged.

Pietro’s eyes narrowed warily. ‘To be returned to you as your father held them, naturally.’

‘As fiefs of the French King, therefore. You think I came here with the largest army England has fielded to become vassal to a king whose right to the throne I dispute? Do I
look
like a fool?’

The other Cardinal broke in. ‘The Pope would seek to have you and France ally yourselves in a crusade – do you not see that your squabble here prevents Christendom from regaining
Holy Jerusalem? We could take back the City from the heathen. Your grandsire was a strong, powerful knight, and he aided the Christians of Outremer with his crusade . . .’

‘You seek a crusade? I say this, Cardinal: I will be happy to consider a crusade – once the matter of my inheritance and my crown is resolved.’

‘I
demand
, in the name of the Pope, that you cease this strife!’ Pietro snapped. ‘You will see your forces hacked to pieces if you dare continue. God Himself abhors this
appalling strife. You must desist.’

‘You “
demand
”?’ King Edward stared at him, his head lowered, for a long moment. Then he held out his hand. ‘Where are your papers?’

‘What?’

‘You will have letters of authority to demand action of me. Where are they?’

Pietro exchanged a glance with his companion, and then met the King’s gaze with resolution. ‘We have no need of papers. You recognise our rank and position. You will obey us as
Princes of the Church.’

‘You have no papers. I do not recognise your authority.’

‘Your Majesty, I—’

‘The interview is concluded, Cardinal. You may leave us. Do not be tempted to argue further. I will brook no more discussion. You have no place here.’

‘Then before I depart I must ask for the loan of a horse.’

‘A horse?’

‘Your men stole our beasts when we arrived here,’ Pietro stated, holding his temper in check with difficulty. ‘The uncouth devils with spears.’

‘I will have a mount provided for each of you. Now, begone! I have much to deal with.’

The Cardinals nodded, glanced at each other, and then turned and made their way from the room.

King Edward beckoned an esquire and muttered to him. The man hurried off after the two prelates. When they were alone again, the King sat once more and stared at the floor. Then, slamming his
fist on the arm of his chair, he said in a furious hiss, ‘How
dare
they! How
dare
those piss-pots come here and command me when they have not even a letter of authority between
them? Be damned to them!’

‘What now, my liege?’ the Earl asked.

‘Now? In God’s name, my Lord, we find the French King and bring him to battle! Tomorrow we advance to Rouen.’

7 August

Berenger’s shoulder was much improved. The soreness was faded, and when he caught sight of the old leech, there was a grudging respect in his eyes. Never before had he
known a man so competent at curing wounds.

This morning they had risen as usual before dawn, the camp grumbling awake in the cool greyness, while the sergeants and vinteners walked about bellowing their orders, counting their men,
kicking the recalcitrant awake, and generally making themselves annoying.

Grandarse had always preferred a more leisurely approach. He rested while Berenger and the other vinteners bullied and cajoled their men to their posts, and then came along to stare at them
sourly.

‘A fine riot of pisshead tart-ticklers you look,’ he grunted. He hoisted his hosen up beneath his belted tunic and puffed out his cheeks. ‘Bugger-all sleep last night, me. I
could do with a decent bed again, and a fine wench to warm it.’

Clip called out, ‘You could always try Ed’s young strumpet. She’d keep you fresh enough. A little draggle-tail like that would ruin a night’s sleep!’

‘Ah, go piss in the wind,’ Grandarse said. He glanced around at the girl.

Berenger thought she was losing a little of her fear of them now. At first she must have assumed that she would be raped when the men brought her to their tented shelters, but no one had laid a
finger on her, not when they understood she had saved Ed’s life. Even the usually hard-bitten Jon Furrier had gruffly passed her a cloak one night when the air was chill and she lay huddled
and shivering.

And yet the girl made Berenger uncomfortable. There was some knowledge in her – a look of measuring confidence, such as an assassin might give – that made him anxious. It must also
have been Geoff’s words. It took little more than a comment like his, mentioning ‘witch’ to cause distrust and fear.

For now, she had helped them, and saved Ed, and that was enough for the men in the vintaine, so it would have to be enough for Berenger too.

On the order, he helped the others stow their goods. A fine collection of plunder they were acquiring, and there was some good food in the cart alongside the arrows and bow-staves. The nag that
pulled the cart was a tormented, bony old beast, and by common tacit agreement, the vintaine had allowed the woman to take its head. Now, some days later, she and the horse were almost
inseparable.