Part 28 (1/2)

'I was in a black rage that they should try to murder one of my men. I would do it again.'

'You would be a poor leader of men, were you not to take their health and well-being in hand. And avenge them in death.'

'I do my best for them,' Berenger said.

Sir John nodded. 'It is no more than I would expect.' His eyes suddenly widened. 'What is that?'

Ahead, and a little to the north, was another thick column of smoke. The wind caught at it and tugged it this way and that, but the pall was so thick and oily that it still remained hanging over the whole area.

Sir John studied it for some while, and then he beckoned his esquire. 'Richard, go and ask the Prince if we may ride to investigate that. It is far from our line of march. None of our men should be there. Suggest that we and two vintaines should go and reconnoitre.'

'Sir.'

The esquire wheeled his horse and cantered back to where Edward of Woodstock rode with the Earl of Warwick. Soon he was back.

'Sir John, the Prince thanks you for your observation. He says he would be grateful if we could go and investigate.'

'Good! Berenger, you come with me, and bring your men. We'll take Roger and his vintaine too,' Sir John said. He glanced at his esquire. 'We can ride and investigate, and if there is nothing, at least we shall have escaped this d.a.m.ned dust for a while,' he added.

They took their horses across the path of a swearing, furious wagon-master, and thence up a gentle rise to the top of a broad hillock. In the distance they could plainly see a series of large buildings enclosed by low walls.

'It's a monastery,' Richard said. 'If those are our men, they will pay a heavy price for this. The King wants no insults to G.o.d this late in the campaign.'

'G.o.d?' Sir John snorted. 'More to the point, the King wants as few English archers wasted in individual mercenary engagements as possible. He needs every single man. And he does not wish to be held up here, with the French breathing down our necks. If those are Englishmen, they will live to regret their actions for the rest of their lives. Although that may not prove to be a very long time.'

Later, sitting muzzily in the dark with a goblet of wine, Berenger would remember every moment of that afternoon.

Even as he cantered under the monastery's gatehouse, Berenger had a premonition of disaster. Just inside, three bodies were sprawled in the dirt. Avoiding them, the vintaine rode in past the outbuildings and towards the main convent.

All about the gra.s.s, they saw, were more bodies lay-brothers who had tried to defend their church and cloister, but had failed. Some had been pierced by arrows, while others had been beaten to death or stabbed. Fighting and killing those who were all but incapable of defending themselves was the action of outlaws, Berenger thought in disgust, not a disciplined army.

At a doorway, a porter lay draped over the steps. Berenger dismounted, and with Sir John and Geoff, he marched inside.

From the abbot's chamber upstairs there came the sound of ribald celebration. Sir John drew his sword and, with a quick look at the men behind him, took the stairs in a rush.

At the top there was an already open door, and inside they found a party of thirty men.

All were drunk. A pair were dancing on the abbot's table; beneath it lay the body of a man. A piper played a tune, beating time with his tambour, while others capered and sang, all brandis.h.i.+ng goblets and cups which they refilled from the cask set on the sideboard. The cus.h.i.+ons and hallings that had been hanging on the walls to keep the room warm, were thrown to the floor, and a man was p.i.s.sing on them as Sir John entered. He turned, mouth agape, at the intrusion, but before he could make a comment, Sir John's gauntleted fist smashed his lips against his teeth, and he crashed into the cupboard. Pewter and plate rattled and fell to the ground in a discordant cacophony, as though a box of hand-bells had been thrown on to a granite slab.

The piping, drumming and singing tapered off, and all the men in the room turned to stare at Sir John. He lifted his sword and pointed it at the men on the table. 'Get down!'

'What's this? Come to get your own share, my Lord Knight?' a sarcastic voice called. It was Tyler.

'All in this room are guilty of looting and disobeying the King's command,' Sir John announced. 'You will leave this chamber at once.'

'This is our victory, Sir Knight,' Tyler said in his sneering tone. 'You want us out, you'll have to pay us to go!'

There were some muttered a.s.sents to this, and heads were set nodding.

Sir John called to Berenger's men, and Jack and Geoff entered. Without needing to ask, they grabbed the nearest man and flung him bodily down the staircase. After that example, the men ignored Tyler's exhortations and followed down the stairs themselves. None was in a fit state to argue their cause.

Amongst the men Sir John saw three he recognised, and he glanced at Berenger, whose face was filled with misery. Shaking his head, the vintener walked outside, waiting until Gil appeared.

'What were you doing here, Gil?'

Gil's faded blue eyes were almost grey, and although he was sober, he looked washed-out and anxious. 'We helped them, just as you said.'

'You knew your orders, didn't you? You knew no one was to attack a town or manor, but to keep moving, to prevent the French from catching up with us. What did you think would happen?'

The men were marched from the abbey's grounds. Geoff and Jack were despatched by Berenger to see if anyone had survived the a.s.sault, but even Geoff looked shocked at the sights in the cloister.

'Two men in there, they'd been tied to a wall and crucified. They were tortured first. Frip,' he said in a quiet voice. 'I've never seen things like that before. They didn't even choose the sort of men who would know where any treasure would be stored, but just grabbed anyone: servants or lay-brothers, from the look of them.'

Berenger had the captives herded back towards the army. When they arrived, the marching troops were commanded to halt, and a pa.s.sageway was opened for the renegades. Riding slowly down it, Berenger saw the Prince approaching beside his father from the far end of the corridor. The King, a tall, handsome man in his middle years, was known for a sense of humour. But today there was no smile on his face. Today, he was bitterly angry.

He held up his hand to halt his escort.

'Is it true, what my son has told me?'

Sir John allowed his rounsey to side-step to expose the men with Tyler behind him. Berenger watched as the King allowed his gaze to fall upon each of the bound men in turn. 'Where were they?'

Sir John took a breath and cleared his throat reluctantly. 'At the monastery over there, Your Magesty. All inside were slain. Some tried to defend their convent, but they were cut down. I think no monks or lay-brothers survived.'

'And for what?' the King demanded in a low, furious voice.

'We sought to wage war with fear, just as you told us,' Tyler said boldly. 'You brought us all here to fight a war of dampnum. You told us to attack towns and cities, farms and villages. We continued what you told us to do.'

'I gave orders that the whole army was to ignore tempting targets today, and should ride with determination to the Somme. That was the sole purpose of our day, to make it to the river before the French get there. It will be our purpose tomorrow too. We must prevent ourselves from being trapped here. But you decided to slow us, to entertain your own base greed for profit. By your treachery, you may have cost us more than treasure!'

'Sire, we did what you wanted us to do all the way here! How were we to know that this one day you would choose to alter your plans?'

'Silence! I will not debate with you about this act of callous treachery! You have betrayed my trust: Sir John, have them form a line.'

Sir John nodded and motioned to his esquire. 'Do as your King bids.'

The men were forced from their horses, and pushed and shoved into a line. Men armed with bills kept them in their places.

King Edward motioned, and the men at his side rode forward a few paces. On the King's left was the Earl of Warwick, and he now pointed with his baton to more foot-soldiers. They marched up, bills at the ready.

'These men have broken my command,' the King declared, his voice singing out in the silence. 'They knowingly rode out on adventure for their own benefit. Their greed has endangered our army, for their arrogance caused us delay, and our enemy is hard on our heels. For this there has to be a punishment that fits the severity of their offences. The first man will step to the left, the second to the right, the third to the left, and so on through the men in the line. Those on the right shall be reduced to the rank of the foot-archers and their money shall be stopped at that level. They will have to prove their loyalty afresh.'

He paused while the men were prodded and beaten into their new lines, and then the foot-soldiers marched down between the two lines and separated them.

The King stared at the second line.

'These other men shall be executed now.'

Ed listened to the King's words with breathless disbelief.

When the men had all been marched back to the army, he had thought that there would be a court, an opportunity to explain and yet here he was, with the sentence of death on him!