Rhuddlan (19 page)

The storm didn’t hit all at once. There was
thunder and lightning and a torrential downpour during which the
royalists huddled in their leaky tents and prayed they wouldn’t be
struck dead and hoped that the spooked, hobbled horses wouldn’t
scatter too far. Then there was a brief respite when the sun and
patches of blue actually appeared in the sky. Longsword took
advantage of it by putting the mangonel to use but was only able to
take four or five ineffectual shots before the clouds rapidly piled
up again and broke open. The men ran back to the relative shelter
of the tents so quickly that the supply of prepared missiles was
forgotten and left behind and when the storm finally moved on and
Longsword went out to the mangonel, he discovered that the pounding
rain had rinsed most of the fat from the cloths, making them
impossible to light.

“At least the temperature’s cooled off,”
Delamere offered sympathetically as Longsword surveyed the useless
missiles with dismay. “The men won’t be so apt to complain
now.”

Longsword glared at him. “If I find the
idiots who were responsible for taking these back, I’ll make them
so miserable they’ll wish they were in hell! And then let them
complain to the devil about the goddamned heat!”

When Alan d’Arques rode into the camp a short
time later, he was told he could find Longsword and Delamere among
the clump of men surrounding the mangonel. The afternoon had turned
stunning, bright and sunny but comfortable and had cajoled
Longsword into a better humor. While some of his men sat nearby and
prepared fresh fireballs for use the next day, the remainder had
decided to clean up their ever-increasing midden by projecting
everything in it—mostly the inedible leftovers of their previous
meals as well as bits of broken metal and one good cooking pot into
which someone had contributed his personal waste—over the walls of
Dol. They had even dismantled one of the wagons and sent the pieces
flying into the guard towers. Longsword cheered as mightily as the
others when the soldiers in the towers were seen to duck in fear as
they realized the projectiles were headed directly at them.

D’Arques slid off his horse with a grin. “My
lords, haven’t you yet taken this castle?”

Longsword whipped around, a sharp retort on
his tongue which died when he saw who had spoken. He relaxed.
“We’re almost there. They were saved this morning by an opportune
thunderstorm.”

Delamere gave the younger man a welcoming
embrace. “You must have made quick work in Rouen,” he remarked.
“Were you at least invited to spend the night?”

“Not even!” D’Arques made a face. “I feel as
though I haven’t slept since the ambush on Chester’s convoy five
days ago.”

Delamere laughed. “Listen to him, Will! When
he was a mere squire he never dared to complain! Believe it or not,
you actually had the easier task,” he told Alan. “We spent the last
few days broiling under the sun and vying to come up with the most
creative object to hurl over those walls.” There were more cheers
from around the mangonel as someone’s soiled undergarment was
wrapped around a discarded helmet and shot clear of the guard
tower.

“What do you mean you didn’t even stay the
night in Rouen?” Longsword asked abruptly.

“The king wouldn’t allow it, my lord. We
marched out only a few hours after I’d arrived.”

“‘We’?”

“Yes, my lord. All of us.” D’Arques pointed
to the edge of the forest in the distance, where an emerging line
of mounted soldiers was only just becoming visible. “The king has
brought the main part of his army to end the siege.”

Henry had performed a monumental feat in
moving both his knights and his foot soldiers almost two hundred
miles in less than two days. He arrived at Dol on August 23rd and
promptly relieved Longsword of his command. After a brief
conference with his son, the mangonel was ordered pulled back and
Sir Walter was dispatched to the fortress to offer terms.

Delamere expected Longsword to emerge angry
and bitter from his meeting with the king but to his surprise his
friend was subdued. “He said I should have sent Sir Walter to talk
to de Fougères and Chester immediately, to let them know my
intentions and give them the opportunity to surrender instead of
trying to force them into it,” Longsword told him glumly. “He said
I wasted four days and put my men at needless risk.”

Delamere was stunned. “But how were we to
know the garrison wouldn’t just kill fitz Hamo and overwhelm us,
seeing how outnumbered we were?”

“He said that if the garrison knew how few we
were, it would have attacked us four days ago.”

“And that was that?” Delamere demanded. “So
neat and simple? What about everything you’ve done? What about the
ambush? Did he say anything about that? It was a great
slaughter—”

“Sir Walter began to tell him of it,”
Longsword interrupted, “but he held up his hand and said Alan had
already given him the story. That was all.”

“I don’t believe it—”

Longsword held up his hand in a fair
imitation of the king. “He’s right, Richard,” he said wearily.
“Everything he said was right. I was so eager to crush the rebels
that I didn’t think of the uncomplicated solution.”

Delamere watched his friend walk off
dejectedly, back to the tent Henry had apportioned for his own. It
would have been useless to argue further with him, to try and buoy
his sagging spirit. Longsword lived and breathed on his father’s
say-so and Delamere suspected that, to him, his failure to force
the capitulation of the rebels was due to more than insufficient
time or bad weather; it was divine confirmation of the king’s hard
words.

At the same time, Hugh and Ralph de Fougères
watched Sir Walter and his escort ride out of Dol. They had not
been permitted to plead their case or ask for special privileges.
Henry’s terms left no room for negotiation. They were to surrender
immediately to a comfortable, honorable imprisonment for the
duration of the war. If they refused this offer and chose to
continue their futile rebellion, the king would show no mercy. They
were given three days to think about it.

Hugh’s mind had been decided long before
Henry had appeared and de Fougères’ nerve had been faltering since
Longsword had brought up the mangonel. The latter knew also, from
past experience, how hard Henry could be when he was angry and it
was obviously anger which had propelled the king on his monumental
march to the other side of Normandy. No one at Dol could even
remember the last time Henry hadn’t won a siege; he was the master
at it.

On August 26th, the earl of Chester, Ralph de
Fougères, over one hundred knights and three times as many
mercenaries filed through the front gate of Dol and put their
weapons at the king’s feet.

Chapter 13

August, 1174

Barfleur, Normandy

The Young King’s rebellion struggled on for
another year.

Realizing Henry had effectively secured his
borders in Normandy with the defeat of the alliance in Brittany,
the rebels turned their attention to England, where they intended
to create so much havoc that the king would be forced to come to
its aid. King William of Scotland, another of Henry’s inveterate
enemies, ravaged the north country and succeeded in capturing
Nottingham in the spring of 1174. The loyalists defending the
country (who included Geoffrey Plantagenet, Henry’s second bastard
son), were able to hold their own in most of the midlands but when
the count of Flanders made public his plan to personally invade
England in retaliation for his brother’s death, they sent
messengers to the king, begging him to return.

Henry landed at Southampton on July 7th. He
went straight to Canterbury and at the cathedral did public penance
for his part in the murder of Thomas Becket. There were those who
had said that the rebellion of the king’s sons and the ensuing war
were the result of that heinous crime, even though the papal court
had seen fit to absolve him of any guilt. With his penance, Henry
sought to quiet such rumblings and it seemed to work admirably.
King William was captured in Yorkshire on July 13th and within a
few days the whole of England was secure in Henry’s hands.

It became obvious that the count of Flanders’
declaration to invade England had been nothing more than a ruse to
get Henry out of Normandy. On July 22nd, he and King Louis attacked
Rouen, which had been their main preoccupation since the start of
the rebellion.

On August 8th, Henry returned to the
continent, putting down at Barfleur. William Longsword disembarked
on shaky legs, splashed to the beach and dropped to his knees on
the rocky ground. Of all crossings, he hated night ones the most.
It was bad enough to be on a rolling ship but to not even be able
to see past his hand at the same time was hell. He hadn’t slept a
wink.

He muttered his fervent prayer of gratitude
and got up, pausing for a moment while the rest of Henry’s army
strode around him, carrying weapons and mail high to keep them from
getting wet and pulling on the leads of the skittish, blindfolded
horses. The memory of the trip behind him and his ritual completed,
he was now free to glare at his father, who was watching with
unconcealed impatience as his mount was led up to the shore,
followed by a line of men, each of whom bore some accoutrement of
his war gear: saddle, hauberk, helmet, dry boots and gloves, extra
sword.

“Don’t tell me you’re still angry,” said
Richard Delamere, splashing up behind him.

“No—I’m outraged!” Longsword snapped. He
gestured with a sweep of his arm. “Out of all the men here why am I
the one he picks to stay behind until all the damned ships have
been unloaded?”

Delamere grinned. “I’m not certain but
perhaps it has something to do with the tactless remark you made
about skewering the Young King on the point of your sword when you
meet up with him in Rouen.”

“It was a joke!”

“Will, in all the years I’ve known you,
you’ve never made a joke,” Delamere told him. “You’re totally
without humor.”

Longsword fixed his outraged
glare on his friend, who burst out laughing. After another moment,
he relented and smiled wanly. “Well, I
do
feel like skewering him. It galls
me how my father can still look upon him so benignly after
everything he’s done. Can you imagine Young Henry behaving likewise
if he’d had the upper hand all this time?”

“As long as the king lives, that could never
happen,” Delamere said seriously. “No one can defeat him.”

Longsword didn’t reply. He turned his gaze
again to his father, attended now by his knights, and Delamere saw
a mingling of devotion and admiration suffuse his face. He felt
sudden anger with the king. Longsword deserved more recognition
than he was given, more honors. While Henry inspired a fierce
loyalty among many, he had no better champion than this bastard
son. Yet he was seemingly oblivious of Longsword’s earnest
endeavors on his behalf while simultaneously excusing the treachery
of the Young King. Delamere could only hope that when the rebellion
was finally put down, Henry would reward Longsword in a manner
which would prove to his son how much his unswerving fidelity and
hard work were valued.

Rouen had been under siege for more than a
fortnight by the time Henry returned to Normandy. Although the city
was defended by a sizable garrison, it could not hope to hold out
for any great length of time against the combined forces of the
king of France and the count of Flanders. Already its walls were
suffering from the constant bombardment of siege machines such as
the one Longsword had employed at Dol. It was also more difficult
to defend an entire city instead of a single fortress; there was a
large and unpredictable civilian population to be taken into
account and a greater preponderance of timbered buildings that only
increased the chances of widespread destruction from fireballs
hurled by the attackers. And due largely to its strategic placement
on the Seine, Rouen was an important commercial center. It couldn’t
afford to lie dormant for too long.

Longsword had proposed taking two or three
hundred mounted men and racing to the city ahead of his father’s
army to engage Louis’ forces and divert his attention from the
siege but Henry had refused the offer. Contrary to the prevailing
opinion of most loyalists, he had no wish to deal the rebels a
humiliating, crushing defeat which might very well provide them
with an excuse to rebel again at some later time. He had no wish,
as well, to alienate his heir. He rode instead at the head of his
forces in a quick but showy procession designed to give Louis’
spies warning of his advance and the opportunity to withdraw to
France as the rebels had done at Verneuil.

August 10th was St. Laurence’s Day and in
Rouen a general truce was declared for a celebration. The citizens
made merry in the streets and on the banks of the river there was a
tournament for the knights of the garrison. But, just as he had
done at Verneuil, Louis broke the truce in a desperate attempt to
take the city before Henry arrived. Only the sharp observance of
two clerks taking in the view from a high tower saved Rouen. They
noticed the martial activity in the French camp and sounded an
alarm which brought the garrison running back to its posts in time
to prevent the rebels from scaling the city walls. Henry arrived
the next day. There was some fighting but the true break came when
carts carrying supplies to the French were seized by his
mercenaries. Without supplies Louis realized he wouldn’t be able to
survive for long in hostile territory and he fled across the
border. Henry marched triumphantly into Rouen. England had been
secured and now Normandy. Excepting the count of Flanders, the king
of France and Young Henry, the major figures of the rebellion had
all been captured. The fight was over. In September, Louis sued for
peace.