A Flight of Arrows by A.J. MacKenzie (most recommended books txt) 📗

hand. They had seen little of Holland on the march north; the wound he had taken at Gaillon had begun to fester. He had spent much of the journey from Poissy consumed with fever, but he was here now, thin and wasted with illness and pain, his knuckles white on the hilt of his sword.

‘And another five hundred Genoese,’ said young Salisbury. ‘And we can only ride about ten abreast across that ford. They will pick us off as we come, and if we do get a foothold on the north shore, the men-at-arms will charge downhill and drive us back into the river.’

‘Aye,’ said John Sully. He had taken off his bascinet, resting it on the pommel of his saddle, and his white hair shone in the sunlight. ‘It will be just like Stirling Bridge all over again.’

Mortimer turned his head. ‘What happened at Stirling Bridge?’

‘William Wallace held his men back until about a third of our army had crossed the bridge. Then he charged home. Once the Scots seized the bridgehead, it was all over. Every Englishman who crossed the bridge died, apart from a few that could swim. I was one of them.’

Courcy grinned at Mortimer. ‘I’ll bet you’re glad you asked,’ he said.

‘Anyone who wants to survive should stick close to Sir John,’ Matthew Gurney said. ‘Clearly he has a knack for it.’

‘And the rest of us should pray for a miracle,’ said Salisbury. ‘Because we will need one to get across that river.’

Holland shook his head. ‘Save your breath,’ he said. ‘We already had one miracle, at Poissy, and we threw it away. I doubt if God is in the mood to grant another.’

Horsemen came riding up from behind, the Prince of Wales with Warwick and Northampton. ‘We have just seen his Grace,’ the constable said. ‘Bohemian horsemen are advancing down the south bank from Abbeville, with the rest of the French army behind them. The king and Arundel will hold them off as long as they can, while we seize the ford.’

The prince stared across the river at the massed French troops. ‘How many of them are there?’

‘Sir Nicholas Courcy reckons four thousand,’ said Salisbury. ‘With men-at-arms and crossbows.’

‘Four thousand.’ The prince looked at Warwick and Northampton. Suddenly he grinned. ‘Then we’re fucked, aren’t we?’ he said.

‘Hardly the language to use to encourage the men, Highness,’ murmured Burghersh, his tutor. But he was wrong; the men around them were smiling, some of the archers sniggering behind their hands.

‘Ah now,’ said Courcy. ‘I seem to recall old Caesar saying something very similar when he crossed the Rubicon. And that turned out pretty well.’

‘What Caesar actually said was “the die is cast”,’ Burghersh said.

‘Translate it into Irish and it comes out the same thing,’ said Lady Gráinne.

The prince laughed out loud. ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘The die is cast indeed. Well, Lord Marshal, Lord Constable? Shall we decide the order of march?’

‘The Red Company goes first,’ said Warwick, pointing to the men down by the river.

‘No,’ said Hugh Despenser.

In the silence, every eye turned on Despenser. ‘No,’ he repeated. ‘I have spent this entire campaign waiting for a chance to prove myself, to wipe out the sins of my father and grandfather. This is my hour.’

‘And I am coming with you,’ said Mortimer.

‘So am I,’ said Matthew Gurney, riding up alongside them and halting. ‘Sir Hugh is right, Highness. We deserve our chance.’

Despenser looked at Gurney. ‘You said that anyone who wanted to survive should stick with Sir John.’

‘I did. I didn’t say I was one of them.’

‘So be it,’ said the prince. ‘Sir Hugh’s men will lead and the Red Company will follow. Sir Thomas Holland’s company is third, and I will come after them.’

‘Highness,’ said Burghersh. ‘Think of your safety.’

The prince did not turn his head. ‘Once we are in that river, there is no safety for any of us. Very well, Lord Marshal. Make it so.’

Warwick nodded. ‘We cross as soon as the water is low enough.’ He rode a few paces forward and shouted down to the men on the bank. ‘John! Richard! Are we ready?’

‘Not yet,’ Grey called back. ‘The water is still too deep. We must wait.’

They waited. The sun climbed higher into the sky. Dust clouds boiled in the east as the Bohemians drew closer and closer. More companies came crowding down onto the riverbank, followed by the royal servants and some of the remaining carts and wagons. Merrivale spotted Tiphaine on the back of a pony and motioned to her to join him. ‘Stay close to me,’ he said. ‘On my left side. You will be downriver, and I can shield you from the current.’

He looked around again and saw another familiar figure, the little cowherd. My God, he thought, water that is chest height on a man will be over her head. He beckoned to her quickly. ‘Mistress Driver! Come here, girl. Up on the saddle in front of me, quickly now.’

She scrambled up, holding onto the mane of his horse. Michael Northburgh rode past and grinned at him. ‘Adding to your collection of demoiselles, I see.’

The dust clouds were very close now. Some of the Red Company men were venturing out into the river, linked by ropes. They called something to the shore, and John Grey nodded. Turning towards Warwick, he cupped his hands and shouted, ‘The water is deep, but we can cross.’

High and clear, cutting across all other sounds like an angel announcing that the gates of heaven had opened, a trumpet called.

The Blanchetaque, 24th of August, 1346

Mid morning

The water was cold, despite the summer’s heat, and it deepened quickly. Despenser’s archers, leading the way, were soon up to their chests, holding their bows over their heads to keep the strings dry. The Red Company followed, their ponies half walking and half swimming, and then Holland’s Lancashire men and the prince and his household, Warwick and Northampton riding with them. Courcy and Gráinne and the gallowglasses had moved up to join