Part 31 (2/2)

'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 s.h.i.+elds 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.

<script>