The Iron Castle (Outlaw Chronicles) (17 page)

The only drawback was the weight – in full mail, I was carrying forty pounds of metal on my body, and while cinching the hauberk tight at the waist distributed it more evenly, I was still slower than usual when I moved; indeed when Kit and I exchanged a few passes in the courtyard of Robin’s house, I was hard-pressed to keep his blade from slipping through my guard. I was used to fighting in only a hauberk and a plain light helm, but the new chausses and the fancy head-covering added twenty pounds in weight to my ensemble. However, even if an enemy did pierce my guard, he was unlikely to be able to pierce my flesh, protected as it was by a thick skin of fire-hardened iron and steel.

I wore ordinary clothes – a woollen tunic, hose and boots, and a dark-green cloak – but slung Fidelity at my side, when I went with Robin to a conference called by King John for his senior commanders the day after we heard the news that Philip had marched. I had protested to Robin that I had no wish at all for the society of the King, but my lord insisted.

‘You must let the Arthur thing go, Alan. Really, it has been four months now. I need you with me – you are my right hand; if I fall, you need to know all our plans and stratagems in the minutest detail so you can command the Wolves.’

Reluctantly, I agreed, though I vowed not to speak to the King.

We met in the great hall of Rouen Castle, which had been emptied of all furniture save for a broad trestle bearing a square box filled with sand. The King was peering at the sandbox with that old warhorse William the Marshal at his side pointing out several features contained within it. A few of John’s household knights were gathered round, as well as several of his mercenary commanders, men I knew by sight but generally avoided on principle as their reputations for brutality and vice were even more unsavoury than Robin’s. The King was speaking when Robin and I entered the hall, and I caught the end of his sentence.

‘…just like Mirebeau. Fast and deadly, the two arms acting together as if controlled by the same mind.’

The Marshal scratched his grizzled head. He was frowning down at the sandbox.

‘Sire,’ he said, ‘these things can be very difficult to execute in the field. I know from experience. Perhaps if we devised something a little more simple…’

‘Nonsense,’ huffed the King. ‘It will be child’s play to accomplish for any half-decent commander. Ah, there you are Locksley, just in time. I have had a superb idea to remedy the situation at Château Gaillard. Marshal, perhaps you would care to explain it once again now everybody is here.’

I walked over and looked into the sandbox and saw a crudely drawn model of the lands around Château Gaillard, with the Seine snaking through the middle. The Iron Castle was marked in the centre by a square block of limestone the size of my fist, and to the west of it, a tongue-shaped piece of land, made by a loop in the Seine, appeared to lick at the stone battlements. The Isle of Andely, a boat-shaped island in the middle of the Seine a few hundred yards downstream, or north, of the castle was marked, as was the walled town of Petit Andely, just to the north of the stronghold; and, as a line of pebbles, a bridge that linked town and Isle and the tongue of farmland. As I looked at the map, a host of memories came flooding back. I felt the loss of Richard most keenly then, and not for the first time I cursed the cruel fate that had taken him and left us with this murderous creature for our King.

‘As we all know,’ William the Marshal began, ‘Philip has brought his army up the left bank of the Seine, in an attempt to capture Château Gaillard. His host, some two thousand men, was encamped here initially.’ The Marshal poked a calloused finger into the tongue of land to the west of town and castle, the broad flood plain on the other side of the Seine.

‘We believe,’ the Marshal said, ‘he aims to throw a noose around the castle, cut it off from all help and starve it into submission over weeks and months.’

There were a few mutters and mumbles of assent from the knights around the sandbox. It was the wise thing for Philip to do.

‘Roger de Lacy, who commands Château Gaillard and the surrounding defences, is, as I’m sure many of you are aware, a most brave and competent knight. He has not been idle: when Philip’s host was first sighted, de Lacy destroyed the bridge connecting the Isle and the east and west banks, which meant that for some days Philip was blocked by the river, unable to cross the water and attack either the small wooden fortress on the Isle or the town of Petit Andely, or indeed Château Gaillard itself. For a while, the Seine acted as a huge moat keeping the French on the western bank, away from our walls. But Philip’s a competent fellow, too, and it seems he is serious about taking the Iron Castle.’

‘That cannot be allowed to happen,’ interrupted the King. ‘All of you must understand this: Château Gaillard cannot be allowed to fall to the enemy!’

‘Quite right, Sire,’ said the Marshal. ‘Quite right. If we hold Château Gaillard, we hold Normandy. But if it falls…’

‘Explain my plan, Marshal,’ said the King. ‘Go on, tell them. Tell them.’ His face was alive with enthusiasm, like a child who thinks he has been especially clever.

‘To replace the bridge that de Lacy destroyed, King Philip has constructed a pontoon using flat-bottomed river craft mainly, lashed together, but with larger ships on each end, on which he has raised defensive towers. Our scouts report that the new floating bridge is positioned here.’ The Marshal indicated a point beyond the northernmost end of the Isle of Andely. ‘And since its completion, Philip has been able to cross the river with his best troops and invest the fortified town of Petit Andely, here.’

The knights and barons all leaned forward to peer at the sandbox.

‘As far as we know, the town is holding out, aided by some brave knights from the castle garrison, but when Philip gets the bulk of his troops across the river, the town will fall and our men must retreat to Château Gaillard itself.’

The assembled men muttered and huffed at this open talk of defeat. But the Marshal was still speaking: ‘That mighty fortress, however, will not fall. Château Gaillard can stand firm for months under siege because it was designed to do exactly that. It has layer upon layer of defences to ensure that no attacker can even get close – furthermore, Roger de Lacy has sworn on his honour to hold it in the King’s name until the sky falls. He says he will not quit the castle until he is dragged out of there by his feet at the tail of King Philip’s horse. And he will hold it, too, because apart from his courage and determination, he has large stocks of food, plenty of water and a full garrison – forty knights and some three hundred men-at-arms, but—’

‘My plan, Marshal, tell them my plan!’

‘Yes, Sire. His Royal Highness has wisely decided to fight hunger with, um, food. He intends to send a relief convoy of seventy barges filled with wheat, barley, oats, cheeses, oil, wine and so on to Château Gaillard. If the provisions can be got into the castle, the siege is over. If the barges get through, there would be enough food for the garrison to hold out for a year or more, and even Philip with all the resources of France at his fingertips cannot sit outside the walls that long, the risk of disease is too high – his men would soon be dead or dying of the shivering sickness or the bloody flux if they were to sit there for a year twiddling their thumbs. Desertion would be a worry as well – his proud knights would grow bored and impatient after months of inactivity. Many would go home, promising to return if battle loomed. Philip’s army would drain away like water from a leaky bucket. He would look like a fool, too, sitting there doing nothing month after month, waiting for de Lacy to feast his way through his vast piles of stores. Philip cannot stay before the walls of Château Gaillard for a year. So, if the convoy gets through, he will most likely pack up and go immediately. Food is the key. If the food convoy gets through to the castle, at one stroke we will have won the battle.’

‘But if the French hold both banks of the Seine,’ said Robin, speaking for the first time, ‘and this ingenious bridge of boats blocks passage of the river here’ – he pointed with his finger to the thin line in the sand north of the Isle of Andely – ‘how can we possibly deliver these vital stores to the defenders?’

‘Good question, Locksley, very good question. And to answer that the King has come up with a bold plan. It is this: a dual attack on the French positions by land and by water, at the same time. I will lead a small force, four hundred men in total, south from Rouen by land, overnight, down the left bank of the Seine. We will march fast and attack the main French camp on the tongue of land to the west of the river, here. If we are swift, we shall be among them before they know we are coming. By all accounts, Philip’s best knights are across the river attacking the town of Petit Andely, and we face a camp full of
ribaldi
, hangers-on, washerwomen, merchants, whores, beggars and other rascally types that follow an army wherever it goes. It will not be difficult for us to prevail. We aim to smash through the camp and swiftly capture this boat-bridge – and utterly destroy it. Leaving Philip’s knights on the eastern bank cut off from supplies, servants and baggage. Meanwhile, the river convoy, with three hundred men under your command, Locksley, will be approaching upstream and once we have cleared the bridge of the enemy and destroyed it, you will sail south of the Isle and moor the food barges at the quay directly below Château Gaillard. The garrison will come down to meet you and help unload the stores. The French at Petit Andely may try to interfere, but you will have your famous Company of Wolves to hold them off until the cargo has been safely delivered. Once the castle is filled to the brim with provisions, it can easily hold out until … oh, I don’t know, until Judgment Day, or at least until Philip realises he has lost this contest and slinks back to Paris.’

I looked at Robin. He was frowning at the King.

‘Sire, have I this scheme correctly?’ my lord said. ‘You plan for two small forces, a few hundred men in each, one coming overland and the other upriver by boat, to depart Rouen and arrive – simultaneously – a few hours later at a spot twenty-five miles away as the crow flies, and twice that distance by water, in the dead of night. Is that it? And the rendezvous you have chosen is a heavily fortified bridge held by hundreds, perhaps thousands of French knights, who also hold both banks of the river. Have I grasped the essence of it, Sire?’

‘Exactly, Locksley – it is a stroke of genius, don’t you think?’

It was a stroke of lunacy, to my mind. Robin seemed to agree.

‘Sire, would it not be better, perhaps, to make a simpler plan. If we took all our combined strength and attacked Philip on land and in daylight, I am certain we could surprise him, destroy his camp and drive his men off without too much—’

‘This is the plan,’ interrupted the King, his voice becoming harsher. ‘It is a most excellent plan and it will succeed. You will make it succeed, Locksley, or I shall hold you responsible. I will be obeyed in this matter. Do you understand me?’

Robin let out a hissing breath. ‘As you command, Sire,’ he said.

The King nodded once, decisively, and stalked from the chamber, followed by his closest household knights. It felt as if, with his departure, a window had been opened and clean, fresh air were rushing in to fill the room.

‘We will go tomorrow night,’ said the Marshal. He looked around the room at the doubtful faces of the remaining knights and the mercenary commanders, and his eyes narrowed. ‘A word of caution to everybody. Do not speak of this to anyone but your most trusted comrades. We do not want word getting to the French. We must have surprise. Right. Dismissed. Locksley, would you stay? I need to discuss a few fine details with you.’

I left Robin and the Marshal in deep conversation and went back to my lord’s house alone. I told Kit we’d be taking a journey by river, and there would be some hard fighting but, although I trusted my squire with my life, I followed the Marshal’s instruction and was vague about the exact particulars of our mission.

I had a cold feeling in my stomach the rest of the day.

The next night, at a little after midnight, I found myself crouched in the bow of a sixty-foot trading barge at the head of a vast convoy of some fifty or so boats, large and small, being rowed very slowly up the Seine by three hundred Wolves. On the prow of the boat, Robin stood, peering into the darkness, his green cloak fluttering out behind him in the breeze off the water. He was lightly dressed for one going into battle: a simple domed helmet with a nose guard, a knee-length mail hauberk, kite-shaped shield, leather gauntlets reinforced with iron and riding boots. At my shoulder sat Kit, who was fidgeting with the toggles of the padded gambeson that he wore as much for warmth as for protection. Around his waist were strapped the new sword and dagger I had given him. I was resplendent in full suit of mail, with heavy boar’s mask helmet in my hands, but I was feeling less like a glorious knight and more like a nervous nun or a stripling going into a fight for the first time. We had until dawn to reach the bridge of boats under Château Gaillard, perhaps another five hours, but we were still more than thirty miles away and while the oarsmen heaved valiantly, our progress against the heavy current was snail-like.

Just before dawn, the Marshal had decided, was the perfect time to attack the French camp. The enemy would be asleep, and he and his knights, and an attached force of mercenaries, should find it easy, he said, to carve through them and reach the bridge by first light.

But we in the food convoy were going too slowly, the pull of the river flowing towards the sea was too strong. We had only just passed the town of Orival and the first great bend of the river, seventeen miles upstream from Rouen – one third of our journey – while we had used up half the time allotted to us. When I mentioned this to Robin, he smiled serenely.

‘I’m sure it will not matter if we are a little tardy, Alan. Once the bridge is destroyed and the river cleared, we can sail past whether it is dawn or noon.’ But I noticed that he passed orders down the convoy for the speed to increase.