CHAPTER FORTY THREE
William
the Marshal smiled grimly at the soldier standing before him. It was a cold May
morning in 1217 and Sir Geoffrey de Serland had ridden with considerable expertise
over difficult terrain to provide him with much needed information. The widow
of the castellan of
“Thank-you Sir Geoffrey for your cool headed determination” beamed the Marshal. “The French could not have played into our hands more fully if they had been privy to our plans.”
“Indeed”
grinned de Serland. “The Dauphin still remains at
“Louis is foolish for not giving a lead command to one of the rebel English lords” suggested the Marshal. “I know for certainty it has already cost the Dauphin something in loyalty.”
Early next morning on the 20th May Saire de Quincey gently jogged along the road patting his trusty stead with the inside of his gloved hand. Robert Fitz-Walter scowling deeply rode alongside him, the fierce warrior barely seemed to have time to glance at his companion, he was obviously in a deep rage about some matter.
“God’s blood!” he spat out at last.
“Something troubles you my friend?” enquired de Quincey.
“Everything troubles me!” roared Fitz-Walter. “This poltroon of a Frenchman who leads us is a mounted disaster In the short time I have known him he has made error after error, I wonder now why we left our English comrades to fight in such a cause.”
“My thoughts also, my Lord” voiced de Quincey.
“We would be assured a welcome still from the Marshal and his people if we changed sides.”
“What, de Quincey, are you suggesting treason?”
“Of
what false scruples, Fitz-Walter, we have turned coats once already. What is
loyalty anyway?” Do you think
“Look yonder!” commanded Fitz-Walter ignoring the last snatch of conversation. “There comes William the Marshal and his force, totally without cavalry. We can soon dispatch this little lot. What has persuaded the fools to come at us in such a manner? I am back to tell the Count of Perche of our good fortune.”
De Quincey shrugged his shoulders swung his horse round and followed his companion at a fast gallop back to the French camp. If only Fitz-Walter had listened to him a little longer, if only the English force had been slightly more substantial then perhaps this battle need not have been fought. Saire was firmly of the opinion that this Civil War needed to be ended as quickly as possible. What other stratagem could he use to persuade more of his fellow Englishmen to return to their old loyalties?
The youthful Count of Perche surveyed the two hardy warriors with something approaching disdain as he listened to their description of the English army. Trusty soldiers, experienced mayhap but dull laggards, lacking in drive and originality in his estimation. He felt that he must see the situation for himself, the very success of their campaign was dependent on making the correct decision.
“I appreciate your assessment of the situation, gentlemen” announced the Count. “However, I will, myself approach ....”
“God, man we have eyes what else is there for you to see?” blustered Fitz-Walter.
“Allow me to be the best judge of that mesire” bowed de Perche with mocking gravity.
Fitz-Walter spat vehemently, the veins protruding from his large fore-head. Indeed it needed all de Quincey’s strength to turn the nobleman to one side thereby preventing him from physically assaulting the Frenchman.
“Leave him, Fitz-Walter” demanded Saire speaking quickly into his companion’s ear. “Let him cook his own goose. Let us see what French military genius is truly like.”
“Eh? What are you talking about? Have you lost interest in this war?”
De Quincey shrugged slightly but refused to answer this mainstream question. The Count of Perche was already doing much of his work for him. Did the French dandy realise what he was up against? The Marshal was no callow young warrior, he had earned his reputation in a hard school. Imagine therefore the consternation of the Englishmen when de Perche returned advising caution.
“Caution, my Lord?” shrieked Fitz-Walter “The English royalists have only a handful of men. If we meet them on open ground it will give your much vaunted French cavalry a chance to drive them before us.”
“There are more English troops than you surmise” retorted de Perche.
“Surely you have not fallen for that old trick?” demanded a contemptuous Fitz-Walter “God in Heaven, there are just a few wagons and peasants strung behind the main force to impress the naive. In terms of effective soldiery why, man, we outnumber them by a considerable amount.”
“We
will occupy
“Tosh man, we have the numerical strength. Are you mad”
“Arrogant Englishman!” stormed de Perche. “When we have won this war, let alone this battle I will make you eat your words in pig’s slop.”
“I’ll make you eat your words now, I’ll make you digest more than that, you effete over-dressed popinjay.”
De Quincey patted Fitz-Walter on the shoulder drawing him to one side again.
“Hell, Saire, surely you agree with me, why this introspection on your part. Don’t you support me in my views?”
“Of course, of course” whispered de Quincey “Let the valiant Frenchman reap what he plans to sow. He has played right into the Marshal’s trap, the experience will do him a tremendous amount of good. It will be a salutary test of his worth - indeed I doubt if he will ever forget.”
De
Perche was biting his top lip in a mood of extreme irritation. How would he
ever reconcile himself to these insolent Englishmen. If only he had solely
Frenchmen to rely on. Still he would achieve what he meant to achieve despite
the objections of his so-called allies.
“Fitz-Walter you are, I presume, a man of some honour? Bring your men with you we will need our most able soldiery to outwit Marshal’s forces.”
De Quincey nodded briskly at his colleague and made as if to move on.
“De
Quincey will you join us in
“You need good support in reserve, Monsieur le Comté“ suggested Saire “I and my men will hold back ready to intervene if necessary. This, I know you will agree, makes sense rather than to commit all our forces at one fell swoop, that would be a disaster in the making.”
The count glared fiercely at the English baron. He made almost as if to strike de Quincey, thinking the better of it he muttered something to himself and strode away. Turning briefly on his heel he roared “Be it on your own conscience Englishman. Mind I expect you to respond without question when I send, if mayhap I have to, for immediate reinforcements.”
There was a greater air of optimism in the Marshal’s camp. It had been a tremendous advantage that Sir Geoffrey de Serland had been able to point out to them an unguarded postern. It was located near the western sally port on the walls. That was all that was required for the English to take full advantage.
“Fawkes de Bréauté!” hissed the Marshal “ inspite of our differences, indeed your disagreements with a number of friends I account you a bold and resolute officer.”
“I thank-you for that compliment” bowed de Bréauté if somewhat sarcastically.
“No matter” resumed the doughty old warrior “I want you to take a company of archers into the city through the unguarded access, and reach the castle. From there you are to rain arrows on the French below. We will then attack from the North and West and the Earl of Chester from the South.”
“I fully comprehend your plans, Lord Regent” responded de Bréauté. “This is a battle that we will win, and hopefully settle the result of the war.”
“See
to it then, I am relying on your leadership skills, let them be employed to
your best ability. You will have the gratitude not only of my unworthy self but
also the young King Henry and the loyal English population at large.”
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