Owen (20 page)

Also moored with them is my newest venture,
La Demoiselle,
an old but seaworthy three-masted carrack we bought from a Portuguese merchant. The ship cost most of the money I have saved but is capable of making the crossing to Portsmouth and now Nathaniel is investigating how she can pay her way on the lucrative trade routes.

Nathaniel looks up from his ledger. ‘I’ve been thinking. We could use some of this money to buy Breton linen and trade it for wool from England?’

‘The Merchants of the Staple will never allow it.’ I stare out of the window at the visiting ships. One has sailors balanced high on the yardarms, shouting to each other as they make their ship ready to sail. ‘I always thought Calais has a monopoly on the trade in wool?’

‘I will ask my contacts in London.’ Nathaniel smiles. ‘I never met a merchant who turned down a profit. There must be a way.’

‘Will we buy the linen in Coutances?’ I recall the warning from the builder I spoke to on their last visit.

‘The best linen comes from Brittany.’ Nathaniel grins. ‘I have a contact in Rennes who can supply us—for a price.’

‘I don’t see any harm in trying.’

‘We could use more money to strengthen the harbour defences.’

‘Can we afford a canon?’ I look down into the harbour. ‘In Calais they have iron chains they can use to block the harbour—and a row of cannons trained on the entrance. If an enemy ship comes here there is almost nothing we can do.’

The castle has three ancient guns, small cannons called culverins, that can propel four-pound cannon balls a good distance, but without much accuracy. Designed to use on ships, the guns are of uncertain age. The bailiff swears they were brought to the castle by the Duke of Gloucester’s men, so it could be thirty years since they were last fired in anger.

‘A prominent cannon would be a useful deterrent, show them we mean business.’

‘Make some enquiries, Nathaniel. Our defences will be even more important if we can make a success of the trade.’

‘Do you think we could still be attacked, Owen?’

‘You remember what the man told us in Coutances?’

‘There are people there with long memories and they still resent our presence here.’

‘I wish we could live in peace here.’ I examine Nathaniel’s collection of seashells and realise they are neatly arranged by type. ‘This could be an idyllic place if it wasn’t for the threat of being attacked.’

Despite our well-intentioned drills and daily patrols, the first attack takes us completely by surprise. I wake in the night to the sounds of shouts and curses as our men try to find their weapons in near darkness. I pull on my boots and grab my sword, rushing down the steep stone staircase to investigate.

‘What’s going on?’

One of the soldiers shouts back. ‘The French are here—they’ve set fire to a ship in the harbour!’

I rush to the window. Flames lick high into the sky and billowing smoke fills the harbour. The merchant ship that had been moored there left the previous day. The fire is aboard
La Demoiselle
and grows more intense as I watch, engulfing the painted figurehead at her bow.

In the courtyard Nathaniel glances up as he bandages a wounded soldier. ‘We think they were local men. They seem to have run away now.’

I wish they had woken me sooner. ‘Are any other men injured?’

‘Only this man, as far as I know.’

‘Did we wound any of them? Take any prisoners?’

‘I don’t think so. They were too fast for us.’

I am relieved but the surprise attack has been an important wake-up call, a reminder of why we are here. From now on we will have to keep a lookout at night. Worse still, if it is the work of local men it will be a setback to my plans to find some way of working with them.

I pass through the gatehouse onto the drawbridge and walk down to the harbour. The wind changes direction, bringing the acrid smell of smoke. Glowing embers float high in the night air like dangerous fireflies. The flames are too fierce to even bother trying to put them out.
La Demoiselle
is a wreck. I feel the prickle of heat on my face and hear a sharp hiss of steam as seawater rushes through gaps in the hull to fill the hold.

The old hulk of a fishing vessel which has been there since we first arrived is undamaged by the flames. This is no chance act of destruction. The local people are sending me a clear message: The English will never be welcome in this remote outpost. I turn my back on the scene of destruction and make my way back to the castle, wondering if it would make any difference if they knew I am not English but a Welshman.

Standing alone on the high, windswept battlements I look out over the vast expanse of blue-grey sea. A cool, salty breeze tugs at my cape and carries the cry of the gulls as they wheel and soar behind fishing boats. Five years in this tranquil place has changed me, and each year when I return to see my sons I am astounded by the change in them.

Edmund and Jasper have grown into handsome, confident noblemen. King Henry treats them as his favourites, although Jasper secretly warns me of the king’s madness. Like his mother Catherine and her father, King Charles, before her, King Henry has increasingly frequent lapses into a dark place. Sometimes he forgets who he is. Other times he is gone for a day or more, yet they have all become skilled at hiding the truth.

From everyone, that is, except the queen. Margaret has grown into a remarkable, beautiful and powerful woman. Her marriage remains childless, sparking ribald speculation, so she must be concerned that she has failed to provide the king with an heir. Despite that, she has won the popular support of the ordinary people of England. Most importantly, Queen Margaret has also proved herself capable of dealing with those who seek to steal the king’s power.

Duke Humphrey died in strange circumstances two years before, after being arrested by Sir William de la Pole. With his wife Eleanor Cobham still languishing in her prison at Beaumaris Castle, Queen Margaret promptly took over the duke’s mansion, Baynard’s Castle in London. She also seized the duke’s lavish estate at Greenwich and renamed it the Palace of Placentia, making it her favourite personal residence.

I heard the rumours about the death of Duke Humphrey. Some whispered that his food was poisoned on orders from the queen. Others suggested the shock of his arrest was too much for his weak heart. Even when Cardinal Henry Beaufort died soon afterwards, it seems there was nothing to suggest they did not meet their ends from natural causes.

Sir William, the queen’s protector, unquestioned favourite and constant companion, has now become the power behind the throne. His days are numbered though, as he has upset many powerful men who blame him for the loss of Maine and Anjou through his over-generous marriage negotiations.

My little empire has not changed a great deal over the five years. The castle is restored but Hue Spencer was right. My plan to engage with the local people could never have succeeded. The surly bailiff retired the previous year and left for England, much to my relief, as there had always been tension between us. Although I understood the old man’s hatred of the French, I had hoped we could find some kind of peace.

After the attack on my ship I recruited more men, expanding the original garrison to some fifty soldiers, including fifteen archers and ten crossbowmen. Well trained and well paid, there is barely enough for them to do, so I keep them busy patrolling the perimeter and working on restoring the castle, which I think of as my home.

My lodgings at the top of the four-storey high rectangular tower are comfortable, if a little basic. I like to walk along the endless, curving beach, deserted other than for the sandpipers and oystercatchers which turn over small stones as they forage for food. On a clear day I see the island of Jersey and hear the bells of the cathedral in Coutances.

Now all this could be coming to an end. Nathaniel prospers through his work as an agent of the London merchants and spends much of his time visiting
Cherbourg and
Rouen, negotiating on behalf of his many clients. This has led to him learning that the ambitious and influential Breton campaigner, Admiral Prigent de Coëtivy, is planning to challenge our ability to defend the harbour.

My reverie is interrupted by the arrival of Nathaniel, who has been out on patrol checking the chain of lookout posts concealed at intervals along the seashore. Each man has built a beacon from driftwood covered with pitch. Ready to light at the first sign of an approaching fleet, they should be easily seen by the lookouts at the castle.

‘Have you sighted anything?’ Nathaniel scans the horizon, shading his eyes with his hand against the early morning sun.

‘Nothing yet. If they do come, God forbid, they’ll want to surprise us, when they think we will least expect it.’

‘The lookouts are all in place—but we are exposed on the flank. Do you want me to reinforce the eastern perimeter?’

I scan the flat plains of the peninsula. The few trees and low scrub offer little in the way of cover for any attacking force. ‘Not if it means taking men from the harbour.’

‘You expect the admiral to attack from the sea?’

‘I do. You said it yourself—they can easily land an army on the beach.’

‘I remember saying we couldn’t do much with so few men. Even the garrison we have now is stretched, so what’s our plan if they attack?’

‘If there are any ships in the harbour it’s our duty to protect them—otherwise we need to bring everyone into the safety of the castle and prepare to stand our ground.’

Nearly two weeks pass and we are wondering if Nathaniel’s information is good after all, when I am roughly woken by one of the men at dawn. I rush to the high battlements and see the beacons blazing their bright warning. The thought that I will never see my sons again flashes briefly through my mind, then the training we have rehearsed so often takes over.

I look out towards the horizon in the glimmering early light. An ethereal mist floating over the sea is thinning to reveal the sails of at least four ships. I don’t need to watch for long to be sure they are on a steady course, directly for the harbour.

There is a chance they could be merchantmen. Even if they are French or Breton it could be a show of strength rather than an attack. All the same, we must prepare for the worst. We have grown complacent over the five years I’ve been here, almost forgetting the real danger we face is from the French fleet.

Strapping on my sword and wearing a steel breastplate over my doublet, I run down the narrow road to the harbour where Nathaniel is already busy with a group of soldiers preparing the bronze cannon, mounted on a high platform overlooking the harbour entrance.

Each month the team of men practise their gunnery drill and once fired a heavy cannonball far out to sea, although they have never used the cannon against an enemy. It took a lot of work to manhandle into place and our new cannon is impressive, yet now seems inadequate against the approaching warships.

Nathaniel sees me approaching. ‘How long do you think we have?’

I look out to sea where the French ships are now close enough now to see their decks are filled with archers and crossbowmen. ‘Not long. Make sure your men hold fire until we are sure they are in range.’

‘That will mean we are also in range of the French guns.’ Nathaniel frowns as he tries to estimate how soon the ships will arrive. ‘We could fire a warning shot? They may turn away once they see we are defending the harbour?’

‘God willing. If they don’t, we must be ready to withdraw to the castle.’

I look at the French ships and can now see the faces of the men crowding the decks. ‘Fire your warning shot, Nathaniel!’

The boom of the cannon sounds so loud my ears ring and I feel the pressure wave as the ground vibrates under my feet. The gun crew aim their shot well, as it is followed by a splash in the water ten yards in front of the leading warship. I watch the ships continue on their steady course while the gun crew follow their well-rehearsed reloading drill.

They are taking too long. Even if they manage to hit the leading ship, the others will soon make landfall before his crew reload the cannon. It is a difficult decision but I know what I must order them to do.

‘One more round, Nathaniel. See if you can make it count this time—then you and the men must retreat to the safety of the castle.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to order the other men back. We need to prepare the castle for a siege.’

Running towards the lookout posts on the beach I arrive in time to see the first longboats landing on the distant beach. Armed Frenchmen are swarming up the sand dunes, yelling and shouting. There is no longer any question of their intention.

My men are hopelessly outnumbered, throwing down their swords and pikes without even trying to fight. I order them to retreat to the castle and realise too late that the ships sailing into the harbour are simply a diversion, to distract us while the main force lands on the unprotected seafront.

I rush back to the castle and look down to the harbour where our cannon fires one last brave, ear-splitting shot before the crew retreats. The ships are now so close I see men preparing to disembark. The air is filled with shouts of alarm as the heavy cannon ball smashes into the hull of the leading ship. A jagged hole appears above the waterline, the heavy cannon ball causing untold damage and injury as it rips through the decks inside.

‘Hurry!’ I shout as loud as I can. ‘We need to raise the drawbridge!’

Men run into the castle and I count twenty-six, including myself and Nathaniel. As many again have either been taken prisoner, are killed or have deserted, but there is nothing I can do about it. The drawbridge rises with agonising slowness as the ships begin to moor at the quayside and I know it won’t be long before we are surrounded.

The men are hastily barricading the gatehouse with whatever they can find while I return to the top of the tower to take stock of the enemy strength and positions. As well as the four ships in the harbour, I can now see at least another dozen mooring in the shallow bay, some still lowering boats full of armed men. We are hopelessly outnumbered. Worse still, I can see the French are trying to manhandle the heavy cannon at the harbour entrance to point it at the castle. Too late, I realise Nathaniel’s men must have forgotten to render the gun useless.

A repressed memory of the siege of Rouen flits into my mind. The castle, with its three-foot thick walls of stone has become our prison and there is no way to escape. Nathaniel has ensured we have plenty of stores, but we have limited water, although there are enough barrels of ale to last us a month if necessary.

I
gather the remaining men in the courtyard. ‘I’ve no idea how long we will need to hold out—but I’m not surrendering until we have to. I want the archers on the parapet, crossbowmen at the windows.’ I turn to Nathaniel. ‘Can you have some men move all the supplies to the second floor?’

‘Most of it is already there.’

‘It is a shame we had to abandon the cannon in the harbour—I’m certain they’ll turn it against us now.’

‘We still have the old culverins and plenty of shot and gunpowder.’

‘I worry those things could blow up in our faces.’ I can’t help feeling superstitious about the ancient guns, ever since I found they were left here by the late Duke Humphrey. It would be a cruel twist of fate if they enabled him to have his revenge on me after all.
 

Nathaniel is more practical. ‘That’s a risk we’ll have to take.’

‘Let’s set them up in the second-floor windows and see what they can do.’

Before Nathaniel can reply, a deafening boom from the direction of the harbour is followed by a crash of splintering stone and breaking timber which reverberates inside the courtyard. Despite the thick stone walls we know there are parts of the castle that won’t take such a hammering for long.

‘There’s no time to waste.’ I follow Nathaniel up to the second floor of the tower, where the culverins are already being lashed in place with ropes. We watch as the men load four-pound iron balls and measure out gunpowder to prime the guns, ready for the order to fire.

I lead our small group of archers up to the battlements and have my own bow ready. Although I thought it would never be used against an enemy again I have always practised, to pass the time as much as anything else. I look at the tense faces of my men. We might have food and water to withstand a siege but our limited supply of arrows and crossbow bolts means we will have to use them well.

From my high vantage-point I can see the French have hauled our cannon into position and it is now pointing straight at us. They don’t seem in any hurry to reload it and I realise the gun crew only carried a few of the heavy cannon balls to the harbour, as the rest are still in the castle. All the same I curse our failure to prevent the cannon from being used against us, a mistake which could cost us dearly.

On the other side of the castle the French are forming a line to surround us, keeping well out of range. There are so many it is impossible to count them and I feel a sinking feeling as I realise they are preparing to hold us to siege for as long as it takes. The French fleet are well placed to prevent any attempt to support us by sea. Even if I had the foresight to send a man to Rouen it would be too late before reinforcements could arrive.