The Archer's War: Exciting good read - adventure fiction about fighting and combat during medieval times in feudal England with archers, longbows, knights, ... (The Company of English Archers Book 4) (10 page)

       Once again I struggle to my feet with Peter’s help.  This time I stay up.

       “Peter, do we know who they are?”

       “No sire, we do not.” 

      
Sire?  That’s hard to get used to hearing and would certainly surprise me mum – but I like it.  I surely do.

       “Well let’s go ask that boy over there before he finishes dying.”

       All it takes to get an answer is asking his name and offering him some kindness in the form of water to wet his lips.  In between his gasps and weeping we learn his name is Samuel and he’s the son of a vicar from some village called Samfield.  He’s accompanying the knight holding the local manor to help one of Richard’s lords regain control of Cornwall.  They are on the move early so the lord’s men can get back their lands in time for the spring planting - and the main body of the lord’s troops is less than two hours away and on the march. 

       The name of the lord the knight and his men are helping is Cornell and the Earl of Devon and some of his knights are riding with him. 
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       Samuel seems like a nice lad so I give him a soldier’s mercy to stop his suffering - I smash him in the head with a hand ax one of my men took off the dead knight.  Then my men quickly strip him and the other dead men of everything we can carry and mount up to head back to the Tamar.  It’s wet and windy and too late to find a place to fight in Devon; if we fight it will be in Cornwall.  It’s time to ride to Launceston and Restormel to sound the alarm.

       Rank has its privileges so there is no surprise at all when I take the horse of one of the men, I think he’s one of Brindisi’s Italian archers we recruited in Palma, and leave him to ride double behind George from Haverstock.

       Peter and I work out our strategy as we ride for the river:  We’ll all ride together to the river and on to Launceston for a brief stop to dry off and get something to eat.  Then George and I will ride on to Restormel to sound the alarm and Peter and the others will get fresh horses at Launceston and return to the Tamar to act as picquets and watch the ford.

       It’s a fine plan and it works until we reach the Tamar. 

       It doesn’t take long for our little band to reach the banks of the icy river about five miles upstream from the ford.  We crossed earlier at the ford and got wet.  Now know going to get even wetter and colder swimming our horses across to Cornwall - but we have no choice if we are to reach the warmth and shelter of Launceston Castle without using the ford which may be being watched.  And we know it’s going to be brutal because there are gusty winds and sheets of rain coming out of the west.

       “Well lads, there’s nothing for it except to get even wetter and gallop on to Launceston as fast as possible to get warm.  Let’s go.”

       And with that we spur our horses into the water and start across.  That’s when we discover that horses which aren’t particular strong have trouble swimming when they are carrying two riders. 

        We are almost to the middle of the stream before the river bottom gives out and the horses have to swim.  That’s when George’s horse starts to panic and goes under. I’m so busy trying to stay on my horse that I don’t even see what happens, but I can certainly hear it.

       There is a great deal of thrashing about and both George and the Italian go under with the horse.  Fortunately George has the good sense to slide back over the horse’s rump and grab hold of its tail; our poor Italian never comes up for air, not even once. 

      
I would not have been able to do what George did or even known enough to try.  But the ice cold water certainly did wake me up.

       Less than an hour later we clatter over the drawbridge into Launceston, throw the reins of our horses to a couple of stable boys who come running out to greet us, and hurry into the great hall to stand with our teeth chattering in front of the roaring fire in its fireplace.  The lads will feed them and rub them down while we warm ourselves. 

       Martin soon rushes in from wherever he’s been and I begin to spread the word as we all rush to strip off our wet and freezing robes and Martin and the castle folk rush to bring us dry ones.

        Two hours later five of us ride out of Launceston wrapped in sleeping skins in a doomed effort to keep our robes dry and the drawbridge is raised behind us.  We’re leaving Martin hard at work preparing the castle for a long siege that might start at any time.  Preparing for a siege is something we’ve discussed many times and he knows what to do – even so I repeat it so George can hear and then tell Martin that I’m leaving George from Birmingham to be his second. 

      
Martin is as steady as they come but he’s not the brightest candle, you know.

       Martin and George will bring in the local men and livestock and send the rest to a couple of more distant villages.  It’s a plan Thomas and I worked out long ago.  Among other things Martin and his men are to do is to make sure there are no skiffs or small boats on the Tamar that might be used to carry Cornell and his men across without getting wet. And, of course, the ferry below the ford will also have to be cut lose and floated down to Portsmouth.

      
We’re going all out to make it difficult for Cornell to get into Cornwall.  With a little luck maybe some of Cornell’s men will drown or get sick and die.

       And also, of course, starting immediately no one except Peter and his men are to enter the castle for any reason no matter what tale they might tell; anyone else who asks to enter is to be treated as a possible enemy and sent on to Restormel.

       “Throw them loaves of bread and send them to Restormel or into the village if anyone shows up and wants in, but don’t let anyone else in the castle no matter who they are.  And be sure to tell the priest and the villagers to open their doors and be friendly when Cornell’s men arrive.” 

      
No sense in the villagers suffering if Cornell wins.

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       One of the archers and I ride all night and our arrival at Restormel on exhausted horses creates quite a stir the next day.  We’re wet and chilled to the bone as we once again strip off our clothes in front of the fire.  This time it’s Helen and Angelo Priestly and the boys who rush to bring us dry robes and warm food.

       Messengers are soon heading off in every direction to sound the alarm and bring in the livestock to be slaughtered during the siege and other last minute supplies.  I’m dead tired but I barely pause before I climb on a fresh horse and ride down by myself to visit our ships and the men at the ship building camp on the river.

       When I get to the shipbuilders’ camp I’m surprised to see that preparations for an attack are underway as if Cornell and his men will be arriving any minute.  Men are running everywhere and the tents are being struck.  I ride through a throng of men clutching their weapons and hurriedly loading the galleys and cogs with the camp’s food supplies and their tools and bedding.

       “How long before they are here?” Apostos, the head shipwright inquires anxiously in his thick Cypriot accent - and then looks at me in stunned surprise when I tell him it will be at least a couple of days. 

       Apostos throws down the tools he is carrying to the dock in disgust, puts his hands on his hips, and glares at me in disbelief with his head cocked as if I am somehow responsible for everyone’s fears and anxiety.  All around us men have stopped whatever they are doing and are intently watching us.  They instinctively know from the way Apostos is standing that things aren’t quite as desperate as they’d imagined.

       “All we know is what the rider who galloped through here yelled at us.  Scared us half to death he did.” 

       I lean down from my horse and give his shoulder a friendly shake.

       “It’s just as well, my dear Cypriot friend,” I tell him with a smile and a laugh as I dismount. 

       “Cornell and his men really are coming and soon - so it’s quite the right thing to break camp and take the ships down to the harbor.”

       Then I clap him on both shoulders and loudly thank him and his men for doing exactly the right thing when they got the warning. 

       “Better to be safe than sorry isn’t it; you did the right thing.”

       Five minutes later I’m starting to shiver and sweat and a very worried Apostos is having a horse cart hitched up to carry me back to the castle.

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       My return to Restormel causes chaos and, I have to admit, I sort of enjoy all the attention.  Helen, bless her, takes charge.  She quickly sends a couple of men running up the stairs to bring down our string bed and another to the store room for some garlic cloves.  Within minutes she’s got me in front of the fire and under a huge pile of bed skins with garlic cloves spread all about on the floor to catch my fever – and then she takes off her tunic and burrows right in with me to keep me warm.

       At first it does no good.  But after a while my shivering stops and I take a brief nap - from which I wake up and find I’ve got my dingle half way in her and she’s wiggling to get it all.  After a bit of that I find myself very hot and sweaty and very thirsty as well.

       “The garlic is working, Master.  Here, drink this.” 

         It’s a bowl of ale which is well known to be what a man should drink if he is hot and sweaty.

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       I’m still a bit wobbly and barely back on my feet when three days later who should ride up to Restormel but one of the men I’d left to watch the Tamar River - and the very bedraggled new Bishop of Devon, Henry Marshal, apparently the cousin of a famous knight since he keeps mentioning his name.

       The good man promptly announces he has come to see me on an important matter and he’s pleased to be here despite his hard journey. 

       It seems he’d come with a small party to the River Tamar crossing point where the ferry used to be and shouted across the water asking for a boat.  Upon learning there are no boats available he had placed himself in the hands of God and come across on a horse despite the freezing water. 

       And then, he said quite indignantly, “I was not even given the courtesy of admittance to the castle and a warm fire; instead they took me to an abandoned peasant’s hovel and left me there to freeze.”

       In any event, he’s come, the good man says, to tell me that God has spoken to him and wants him to marry Baldwin’s widow Isabel to Lord Harold Cornell at Restormel.  The bishop has also decided that I and my men must submit to Cornell because “God wills it” since he’s the man King Richard has named to be the Earl of Cornwall.

       Bishop Henry and I have long heart to heart talk and the good man changes his mind about “God’s will,” or so he claims, after he fasts and
prays for a few days in the Restormel dungeon and has new visions.  It
seems Cornell is still in Devon and paid the good bishop to try to convince us to yield without a fight and depart. 

      
Employing the bishop was quite smart even if it wasn’t successful.  It’s also worrisome; Cornell may be smarter and more dangerous than we first thought.

      
It also seems, the cold and hungry bishop unhappily reveals, that Cornell has unexpected problems that may reduce his forces and prospects. It seems some of the mercenaries he hired arrived in an unexpectedly weakened state - just before they joined Cornell they somehow suffered a loss of a few of their number and many of their weapons.  Now there seems to be a dispute as to how much they should be paid.

       Moreover, just before he left to convey “God’s will” to me a messenger from Derbyshire came in for Cornell saying that an enemy force, “possibly led by you although that is clearly impossible,” was seen marching towards Hathersage, his castle in Derbyshire. 

      
One of the bishop’s tasks is obviously to see if I am here or in Derbyshire.

       What the bishop tells me ties well with the news that came in from Thomas yesterday on Simon’s galley.  Thomas sent a message telling me that Cornell is on the march and that he would be leading a force of mercenaries against Cornell’s castle in Derbyshire. 

      
I thought long and hard about letting the good bishop carry some sort of message back to Cornell…. but I decided against it; it’s better he should continue having his visions and talking to God in Restormel’s dungeon than talking to Cornell and having new visions in Devon. 

      
I wonder how long Cornell will wait before he realizes he will not be getting any information from the bishop for a while, if ever.

                                      Chapter Seven

       The glow in the sky over Sarum increases as we move further and further down the cart track that runs from Sarum towards London. Once it becomes totally dark those of us who are riding dismount and the men get out of the wagons.  For the rest of the night we’ll lead the horses because visibility is so poor.

       There is no need for Roger to chivvy the men to go faster.  They all understand the danger.  So everyone jogs and walks rapidly when there is moonlight and we can see what’s ahead of us - and we lead the horses slowly during the periodic patches of total darkness when clouds move in front of the moon.