Michael JECKS - The Oath

Baldwin saw Sir Ralph gauging the distance ahead, then they were both in the air, their beasts leaping high over the hedge and down onto the soft soil the other side. There was a broad expanse of pasture in front of them, leading down to a small rivulet which Baldwin saw sweeping across from the left, and he hoped to Heaven that the King wouldn’t be foolish enough to head for that, because the ground nearby would likely be boggy and dangerous for their mounts.

He saw that Alexander’s horse had lost its rider, and he winced at the thought of yet another man dead, but before he could think more, he saw Wolf, who was galloping as fast as his heavy frame would allow, his tongue dangling free as he gazed up at his master in consternation.

But just as Baldwin saw his mastiff, he became aware of the man riding towards Wolf with a spear ready to spit him. Without thinking, Baldwin turned and rode for the attacker.

Wolf had no idea what his master was doing, but in his houndlike conviction of original canine sin, he stopped and cringed, thinking Baldwin was about to clout him. During that pause, he spotted the rapidly approaching horse and, yelping, shot across in front of Baldwin, startling the pursuer’s horse and making it stop so sharply that the rider was hurled over its head to the ground.

Baldwin was already spurring his horse onwards, back to the King and his companions, but even as he did so, he saw that it was too late.

Although the main force of men was still behind Baldwin, there was a second party in front, waiting patiently, while a third, smaller group had appeared at the other side of the brook. There would be no escape that way. And when Baldwin cast a look to the right, he saw that any exit from this pasturage was obstructed by the thickly laid thorn hedge which surrounded it.

It would be for the King to decide what they must do. Before he could be cut off from them, Baldwin rode at the gallop to join the King and the others.

Simon was a little behind the group, delayed by his shock at the sight of Wolf when the others were already whooping onwards.

He urged his rounsey on, and soon was galloping off after the others. He saw them all leaping over the hedge; where there had been a narrow gap, now there was a ragged tear, and the men were piling through, their horses whinnying with fear and excitement. Simon was the last man to go, and he felt no concern at taking it at the gallop. All the others were already throwing up clods of grass at the other side, and he had to duck to avoid one large lump of earth, and then he felt the huge muscles bunch and thrust, and he was shoved against the high cantle at the rear of his saddle and using his legs to haul himself upright, filled with the thrill of the chase.

There was a flash of red on his right, and his horse shied in mid-leap, trying to swing to the left; Simon found himself lurching, thrown first right, then left – and then he was out of his saddle. There was a moment of vague surprise as he realised that he was flying through the air, with his left foot caught in the stirrup… and then the stirrup leather tightened, jerking him in mid-air, only to slam him hard to the ground. His head bounced up, and his blurred vision caught sight of a horse and rider clad in red just before his body crashed to earth again. He felt the stones, twigs and thorns shred his clothes and rip into his flesh as his mount thundered on, and then something hit his head with a crunch that drove all pain, all fear and meaning from his mind – and he was engulfed by night.

Sir Charles had landed well, and as soon as he was at the other side of the hedge, he whipped and spurred his mount after the others, but even as he leaned down over his horse’s neck and felt the mane slap damply against his cheeks, he cast a quick look to his side, looking for Simon. Nothing. He shot a glance backwards and saw the horse trying to follow; it looked odd somehow – and he suddenly realised there was no rider on it.

‘God damn the fellow!’ he muttered, and pulled on the reins. His great horse pounded back, and that was when he saw Simon being dragged along by his leg. Sir Charles slapped his beast’s rump hard to make him hurry on, and was soon able to turn level with Simon’s horse. Calming him, Sir Charles grabbed at the reins. He had to do so twice before he managed to catch them, and then he pulled on both sets of reins to slow both horses; his own and Simon’s. It was hard work, and Simon’s horse snorted and tried to pull his head free, his eyes terrified, forgetting all his training and becoming almost a wild animal.

Sir Charles stood up in his stirrups, then sat down and hauled, and gradually both horses slowed, then stopped, and as soon as they were still, Sir Charles was out of his saddle and down beside his friend’s body. He saw that the stirrup was caught about Simon’s foot, twisting the whole of his leg, and without ado, drew his dagger and cut the leather. Simon’s leg dropped instantly, and he groaned.

Rolling him over gently, Sir Charles saw how his back had been lacerated, and winced at the sight.

‘My friend, you need help – badly!’

The King reined in his horse and stared at the men confronting him. There were thirty or so in this motley band. Ten on horseback, and those on foot already had their polearms, braced.

There were men in front, men behind, and a party over the brook. ‘Sir Hugh!’ he cried in desperation, and he saw Hugh turn to him. Under his helmet, Despenser’s handsome face was twisted with anguish.

‘My King!’ he shouted, and for a moment King Edward thought his friend might throw himself on the spears of the schiltrom before them, but then he bent his head and covered his face. There was no spirit left in him to fight further.

And that was it, King Edward thought. They were all too worn with trying to gather a force to defend his reign, with hiding and running again. A month and a half of trying to avert disaster – and it had all been in vain.

Sir Ralph rode up to him, with Sir Baldwin close by.

‘Your Royal Highness, we are ready to die for you,’ Sir Ralph said quietly. ‘Command us.’

The King looked at them both, at their resolute expressions. ‘Sirs, there is no point. Fighting will avail us nothing. How many more must die?’

He saw behind Sir Baldwin the armour and face of Earl Henry of Lancaster, and walked his horse to the man.

‘Earl. I submit.’

Llantrisant Castle

Simon was able to do little more than cling to his horse for the journey to Llantrisant, and he was fortunate that Sir Charles rode at his side all the way, for he was continually passing out and at peril of toppling off.

They rode into the castle before dusk, and the whole party entered the hall together, Sir Charles and Sir Stephen assisting Simon to walk. As soon as he was set down on a bench, he turned, leaned his shoulder against the wall, and began to snore.

It was only a small castle, this. It had been Sir Hugh le Despenser’s for some little while, but now it had been taken over by Mortimer’s men, and the place was filled with men-at-arms and their weapons. The King and Sir Hugh looked about them in astonishment to see how many men there were crammed into the place as they were taken up into the hall. While the King was given due honour, and many men tried to encourage him, Sir Hugh was set in a corner and left to his own devices. Food was brought, good simple fare, set out on wooden trenchers, but neither man appeared to have any appetite.

Sir Charles stayed with Simon for the most part of the evening, and when he saw Sir Baldwin and Sir Ralph, he beckoned them.

‘What happened to him?’ Baldwin said in a hushed tone.

‘Fell from his horse and got dragged over the ground. His back is in a bad state,’ Sir Charles commented.