Robin Hood (34 page)

An hour later, when at last he heard the distant dull pounding of breakers on sand, Godfrey knew a moment of profound relief. He was saddle-weary and sore, but they had made it, with time to spare, he hoped.

More soldiers were waiting for him on the beach. As instructed, the men had built a series of wooden pyramids along the tideline more than a dozen of them evenly spaced along the shore, each tall enough to be seen at a great distance, each soaked with naphtha, so that the beach stank of it.

Godfrey gazed out across the water, peering through the pale mist that hung over the channel. After several moments, he spotted the dull glow of a lantern as it was uncovered and then masked, uncovered a second time, and masked once more. The signal. From Philip's ship, no doubt.

“
Allumez-les!
” Godfrey shouted as he and his men rode up. Light them!

Responding to the order with alacrity, men hurried forward with torches and thrust them into the nearest of the wood piles.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Flames burst forth, burning brilliantly in the darkness. Down the beach, soldiers saw that the first signal fires had been lit and rushed to light the others, so that the blazes spread down the coastline one after the other, the firelight reflected in the coastal waters.

H
E WAS
P
HILIP
A
UGUSTUS
, leader of the mightiest army on earth, known for his ruthlessness and keen intelligence, and also for the grace of his court and his own elegance. After today he would be known as well as the Conqueror. He would be remembered in the same breath as William, who had sailed across the channel a hundred and thirty years before to defeat the English.

He didn't like having to rely on a man like Godfrey; he would have preferred to rely less on subterfuge and more on the might of his military. But Godfrey thought his plan would work, and Philip had chosen to believe him. Woe to the man if events proved him wrong.

He heard footsteps behind him, and turning saw that the captain was approaching him, navigating the deck with ease, his steps sure and confident, despite the motion of the vessel.

“
Votre Majèste,
” he said, pointing toward the English shore. “
Les voílà les feux.
” Your Majesty, the signal fires.

Staring across the churning black waters toward the English coast, Philip saw the fires burning along the distant beach like a string of diamonds gleaming in candlelight, their glow illuminating the pale cliffs
beyond with a faint golden hue. Land at last, and the promise of an end to this slow torture on the swells of the Channel.

Philip faced the captain once more. “
Commencez l'embarquement. Des que je pourrai descendre de ce miserable bateau, tu m'en informeras.
” Begin landing. Tell me when I may get off this wretched boat.

The king turned away from the man and looked toward the shore once more. The fires gleamed in the night, beckoning to him. At last his invasion could begin. He looked left and right to admire his armada, which was anchored out here in the deep with his own ship. Four hundred vessels strong, some of them war ships bristling with cannons, others landing craft filled with soldiers. Even if John knew of his plans, he could not possibly summon an army to match Philip's. With this invasion, he could finally claim these isles for France. He smiled at the thought.

R
OBIN
, W
ILL
, A
LLAN
, and Little John caught up with the barons and their army just after midday of the day they left Nottingham, and they rode the rest of the way southward with Baldwin and Fitzrobert. Robin wanted to go after Godfrey without delay, but the barons had agreed to meet up with King John's army at the White Horse, just west of London.

While traveling with the barons took them out of their way, Baldwin and Fitzrobert drove their men hard and rode through much of the night. They made good time. By midmorning the following day, they had ridden into a steep-walled valley of lush grasses. Robin looked around him, trying to get his bearings. He had seen the White Horse once before and so knew this country, though it had been many years
since last he came. The White Horse itself was an immense and ancient chalk image of a horse that had been inscribed on the top of one of these hills, back before even the earliest written histories of England. It proved easy to find.

The image of the horse stood out starkly on the grass-covered hillside above them, the crushed chalk gleaming in the sunlight. Looking up, Robin patted the neck of his white charger, the horse that had carried King Richard's crown the first time Robin encountered Godfrey, the horse he had taken as his own the day Robert Loxley died. Robin had never been one to read omens in such things, but he couldn't help but feel that there was a portent in this, though for good or ill he couldn't say.

From a distance he spotted William Marshal sitting his horse beside the king. He rode toward the men. Before he reached them, Marshal saw him and cantered over to greet him, concern knotting his brow.

“What news of Walter and Nottingham?” he asked.

“Walter is dead, M'Lord,” Robin told him. “By Godfrey's hand.”

Marshal sagged in his saddle, a pained look in his pale eyes. He looked like he might ask more, but at that moment King John joined them, his face flushed, an exuberant smile on his handsome face.

“Gentlemen!” the king said. “We go to war! It is my first time. I shall lead.”

Marshal straightened and faced the king, his grief hidden, at least for the moment. Robin marveled at the change in him from one instant to the next.

John danced his horse for a moment, as if too excited to keep still. Then he was off, calling for them to ride with him.

Robin and Marshal exchanged a look and together they rode after the king.

With captains shouting orders and men scrambling to take their positions, the army marshaled quickly: the cavalry a thousand strong, and five hundred more men on foot. Within the hour they had set out southward toward Dover, where William Marshal's scouts expected the French invasion force to land.

For the rest of the day and all through the night, the riders crossed the English countryside at a steady canter, with King John, Robin, Marshal, and the barons at the fore. The foot soldiers jogged just behind them, silent save for the rhythmic beat of their footsteps and the clanking of their swords and armor. They encountered few people on the road, though they did occasionally see faces peering out at them from the doorway of a farmhouse or lamplit window. A gibbous moon carved through the night sky overhead, and a few clouds scudded past, briefly obscuring the stars.

Robin wasn't yet sure that he trusted this king, but he couldn't deny that John had rallied his army to the task at hand. He hoped they would be enough to hold off the French.

As the first faint glimmerings of dawn began to appear on the eastern horizon, Robin caught the scent of salt water riding the breeze. He looked up into the dawn sky and saw gulls wheeling overhead.

Glancing back at Will, Allan, and Little John, he grinned.

They nodded in return, all of them looking eager to get off their horses and take up their weapons.

P
HILIP'S SHIPS WERE
still on the water as the eastern sky over Dover began to brighten with the pinks
and blues and pale yellows of dawn. Sitting his horse, Godfrey could see the vessels clearly now, and he could not help but be impressed with the size of the French fleet. They were slow, though. Too damned slow. If he thought it would have helped, he would have swam out to the ships and pulled them to shore himself.

The landing craft—ugly, flat-bottomed scows— bristled with oars and battle pikes, like hedgehogs floating on the swells. Crossbowmen stood at the squared bows, looking over the raised wooden ramps toward shore, their weapons ready, lest the English appear. Given how the ships rose and fell and rocked on the swells, though, Godfrey wasn't sure how the bowmen would manage to hit anything if they had to fire. Fortunately, there had not yet been any sign of King John's army.

The boats approached the shore steadily, all of them moving in tandem, the men on sweeps rowing with precision. They hadn't yet been taken by the incoming tide, but they were close to the foaming waters. Once they got that far, the Channel might do the rest.

Some of the craft held horses, and even from this distance Godfrey could see that the animals were struggling against their riders and grooms, no doubt panicked by the motion of the ships. Some of the creatures had started to buck and lunge. If the vessels didn't make land soon, soldiers would be trampled by their own mounts.

French soldiers on the beach near Godfrey called to their fellow soldiers, urging them on. Godfrey thought that their shouts of encouragement were sounding increasingly apprehensive.

And he could see why. With every minute that
passed, Godfrey's initial faith in the French fleet dwindled. They were approaching fast enough, but for all their purported skill on the water, they appeared to be at the mercy of the tide. The first of the landing craft reached the surf break only to be turned to the side by the current. Almost immediately, a wave hit the vessel broadside, nearly overturning it. The craft teetered on its edge; horses skidded across the deck, crushing men against the side, and several armored men fell out of the craft and into the surf. Then the ship fell hard, back onto its flat bottom. Had the water been any deeper, the men thrown from the craft would have been lost, dragged under by their chain mail. As it was, the water was shallow enough that they were able to stand.

The men who had been tossed overboard by the tide straggled ashore, plodding heavily through the surf and sand, water pouring from their chain mail as they emerged from the Channel.

The landing craft finally came to a stop at water's edge, half askew, its hull grinding loudly against the sand. The landing gate flopped open and the war horses—huge, armored, panicked beyond control— lunged toward the opening, lashing out with their hooves, kicking the walls of the ship, each other, and any men in their way. A groom, who had been standing too close to the gate, was trampled as the beasts poured out of the ship and onto land. Cavalry men grabbed at the reins, trying to calm the creatures, or at least hold them back. Some succeeded in doing so; others were dragged onto shore.

In the moments that followed, Godfrey saw several other landing vessels make it onto the beach. Their gates dropped open and men and horses began to
disembark. For a short while, it seemed quite orderly. But then more vessels came in, carried by the surf, uncontrolled. A few of these slammed into the ships that had landed ahead of them and were still disgorging soldiers. Men and animals were thrown from both vessels. Some were able to get their feet under them and continue on toward the shore. Others flailed in the water, or cried out in pain. A few didn't move or make a sound.

S
TANDING AT THE
prow of his flagship, King Philip watched, disconcerted, as his men made their way onto Dover Beach. This was not the well-coordinated landing he had envisioned as he and Godfrey planned the invasion.

He wanted to dismiss what he saw as a trifle, a momentary lapse in what would be a glorious battle. But he couldn't help wondering if it was more. If his men couldn't even make landfall without falling out of their ships and being crushed by their horses, how would they fight the English army? Were they on the verge of a disaster?

R
iding alongside Marshal, Robin could hear the surf pounding. The dawn air was heavy with brine here, and the cries of gulls echoed all around them. They cantered up a rise and, reaching the top, saw in the distance Dover Beach and the waters of the English Channel. A line of bonfires burned on the sand, and dark ships approached the coast.