Michael JECKS - The Oath

‘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] 25 October 1326

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.