The south east of England was almost under the total control of Simon de Montfort, leader of the Barons rebellion. The presence of armed men roaming the countryside increased tenfold as the winter progressed and messengers came and went from the castle. Sir John became progressively concerned as reports were received of people being killed or robbed and he sent regular patrols out to try and keep the town and the castle safe. There were frequent skirmishes between those loyal to the King and those who served the barons, and de Capo became involved in more than one; always victorious, and the men loved him for it.
Sir John sent a message informing the King of de Capo’s return to England, and details of his exploits in the holy land. He also mentioned the profound difference he had made to the morale of the men in his own small garrison. He led from the front and treated the men as equals, a rare thing in these times. Sir John listened as the stories and comments from his own men filtered back to him and realised de Capo was a natural leader, although de Capo would argue, stating he had learnt his trade the hard way, the last being in command of a group of men he had hated but learnt to respect.
Sir John remembered what de Capo had said after he had spent the night helping to nurse one of the soldiers who had been wounded, ‘If a man is willing to die with me, he is equal to me!’
It was a hard winter and while the snow continued to fall during the day, at night the temperature plummeted and froze everything solid. The sentries wrapped themselves in thick furs leaving only their eyes exposed as they stamped their feet on the battlements to keep their circulation. Sentries were changed every half hour and a constant supply of hot broth and bread was available to them throughout the day and night. The wood piles continued to diminish and an eerie silence fell over the town as the snow became deeper.
Much to the chagrin of Blanche, de Capo spent most days out of the castle patrolling the town and the surrounding area. After a month word had spread about the crusader who never lost a fight, and the appearance of men fighting for the Barons and the bands of outlaws became few and far between as Lewes became known as a haven for the Kings men.
By the middle of March the thaw came, and it came fast! As the snow stopped, the rain fell, and within days the landscape turned into mire as all that was frozen softened into the viscous muck and slime preventing the movement of armies better than the thick, clean winter coating which had fallen for the previous two months. With the rain came a bitter wind, and where men fought to keep themselves warm, now they had to keep themselves dry.
De Capo still led men out of the castle to scour the local countryside for anyone who was a threat to the safety and stability of Lewes, and each day he returned bedraggled, soaked, cold, hungry and tired; and every evening Blanche was waiting for him, and slowly the bond between them grew stronger.
Since they first arrived Erasmus assisted Sir Johns own priest with daily mass and confessions, but he was also a fine cook and adept in the art of eastern medicine. His skills were put to great use in the kitchen and the infirmary, and with his religious duties as well he was kept busy. There had been no mention made of the scroll unless they were inside his room with the door securely locked. Even there, in the safety of Lewes Castle, Erasmus made it clear to de Capo it was a secret that could not be revealed to anyone, even if they were unable to understand. No one could know, including Blanche.
‘I suppose God sent Blanche to me, did he?’ he asked in his usual cynical manner when it came to Erasmus’s interpretation of events.
After all the months they had been together, Erasmus understood de Capo’s reluctance to believe anything a priest told him, regardless of who that priest was. He had made his daily sojourn to de Capo’s quarters and watched while de Capo warmed himself by the fire, ‘If Blanche is a gift from God, remember, what he gives, he can take away!’
‘I’d like to see him try,’ de Capo snapped vehemently, ‘I would fight him to the gates of hell and beyond to protect her!’
‘In which case,’ replied Erasmus with a broad smile, ‘you are a lucky man to have found such a woman….but,’ his smile faded as he took a step closer, ‘do not forget the reason we are here.’
‘Have no fear,’ de Capo said unconvincingly, ‘I made a promise to you, and once the weather improves I will escort you north before returning here.’
‘And I will pray for your safety and that of the Lady,’ Erasmus turned to leave but stopped as he heard a light tapping on the door. He pulled it open to find Blanche standing there in the gloom of the shadows. He smiled and stared, mesmerised as he always was. Even as a priest he knew beauty when he saw it. She knew the power she had and she knew how to use it,
‘Am I to be invited in or left standing in this passage?’ Her voice was smooth and perfect and even in the gloom of the shadowy passage her eyes sparkled with life, something that had been missing when de Capo had first met her.
Erasmus, enraptured as he always was in her presence stepped backwards and gave a small bow of the head, ‘My apologies my Lady,’ he extended an arm as invitation to enter and Blanche walked across the threshold, smiled at the priest and walked towards de Capo.
Sir Ralf de Capo, knight commander of St Peter, a crusader with a reputation that made him a man to be avoided on the battlefield, a man who was merciful to the weak and the needy but who would kill without hesitation if that was required, blushed when Blanche approached and embraced him. He glanced at Erasmus who stood and looked at the floor, unable to watch such a private moment. Blanch kissed de Capo and stepped back slightly as she pouted in a playful gesture of being hurt at the embarrassment she had caused, ‘The great knight has gone red,’ she teased.
De Capo swallowed and looked down at this woman who had captured his heart so completely, ‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘we are both tired.’
‘I regret I am the bearer of bad tidings,’ Blanche said as she glanced at Erasmus, ‘Sir John has requested you both attend him in the Great Hall.’
De Capo was surprised, ‘He sent you as a messenger?’
‘I offered,’ replied Blanche, ‘I offered because he has received a message from the King!’
~
‘The King commands you to hold Rochester!’
Seven words de Capo had not expected to hear, ‘Hold Rochester?’ He tried hard not to show his displeasure.
‘Aye,’ said Sir John as he sat at the dining table with the message spread out before him, ‘The King has appointed you Military commander of the castle at Rochester and you are to hold it come what may.’
De Capo was still a little perplexed at the command, he had only met the King three times, the last time was before he had left for Acre, ‘Why me?’
Sir John was equally confounded by the question, ‘Because Sir, you have experience, reputation, standing and above all because you are the best man for this task.’
‘Reputation,’ said de Capo, ‘means nothing.’
‘Your reputation,’ insisted Sir John sternly, ‘means everything to the King, and also to the Sheriff of Kent….he has concurred with the King that you are the man best suited for this task.’
De Capo tried to hide his annoyance, he suspected he would get dragged into this war beyond Lewes and commanding the defence of Rochester was probably as good as any other command the King could give him, maybe better as Rochester was a major strongpoint in the line of castles stretching across the country, ‘If the King commands, then who am I to refuse,’ he glanced at Erasmus who looked miserable at the news, ‘when am I to leave?’
‘We leave in the morning,’ Sir John smiled, ‘I am to be your second in command in all matters military, the Sheriff will be there as the Kings appointee, but I am sure you will work well together.’
De Capo looked round at Blanche who stood with Evelyn next to her, both with looks of shock.
‘Don’t worry about the ladies,’ Sir John said as he reached for a quill to reply to the message, ‘they will be safe enough here, this castle is no threat to the barons, n
ot yet anyway.’
‘NO!’ Blanche stepped forward and repeated herself, ‘NO!’
‘Blanche,’ started Sir John, ‘It is….’
‘NO!’ She repeated, cutting her cousin off in mid-sentence, ‘I will not stay here. Wherever Ralf goes I will go as well, and wherever I go Evelyn will be with me!’
‘And I go as well,’ Erasmus joined in abruptly.
Sir John placed the quill down and sat upright, glaring at Erasmus and Blanche, ‘We are talking about a siege; it is no place for women!’
‘It is a place for me,’ said Blanche, ‘and I will be with my betrothed, and you will not stop me.’
‘Betrothed?’ Sir John looked in astonishment at de Capo who in turn tried to hide his surprise as he turned to Blanche.
Blanche held her gaze on de Capo, her eyes widening imperceptibly as she tried to force the issue.
‘Aye, Sir John,' said de Capo as he forced back a smile at the way Blanche had manipulated their position from one of lovers to that of betrothed. He gave the smallest of nods at Blanche and spoke as he returned her gaze, ‘I’m unable to ask her father so in his stead I am asking you for permission.’ He turned to face the Earl again and stood straight and proud as he waited for the answer.
‘I seem to have been ambushed Sir Ralf. I cannot say I am surprised,’ he stood and gave a semi forced smile at both Blanche and de Capo, ‘you have my permission to marry her, but,’ he frowned deeply, ‘it is now your decision if she goes with you,’ the frown turned to a grin as he sat down again, ‘and I wish you luck in that venture…..I shall reply to the King and inform him Rochester will be held.’
Deus Militis
Part Two
Rochester, England 1264
Chapter One
The early morning breeze whistled across the countryside causing the long grass to bend in unison, a disciplined uniformity of nature pointing the direction which the thick grey clouds above should travel. A thin drizzle had fallen overnight and the landscape was covered in a wraithlike sheet of moisture that failed to glisten in the bleak sunless daylight.
The knight, clad in mail and plate and with a cloak about his shoulders to keep out the chill, waited at the top of the hill and surveyed the vista before him; he was hungry and tired, and despite the cloak he was cold. He turned his mount to face the direction he had come from and raised his arm to the men in the valley below. He was rewarded by a raised arm in reply and waited patiently as the line of horsemen slowly climbed the slope to join him.
Henry, Commander of the group led the way and stared through red rimmed eyes at the view before him. He and his men had ridden all night, carefully picking their way across the countryside purposely avoiding the old Roman Road. They were ready to fight but it would have been foolish to risk death and injury for a skirmish when there were more important challenges.
‘Let us hope we are not too late.’ Henry was of royal blood, related to friend and foe alike, and the choice he had made to be here had been a difficult one. The man next to him said nothing; there was nothing to be said. He glanced to his left as the rest of the men reached the summit and sat in a line and staring down at the city. None of them had been here before, and they had all set out on this journey because of loyalty to one man. That man sat scanning the walls and the castle from up high and tried to imagine how he would attack a city with walls thicker than a man’s height and a castle with a reputation as a King breaker. He looked at the Great Keep of Rochester, a grey stone monolith that had occupied the landscape for nearly two hundred years, a testament to the military might of its owners.
Built to guard the approach to London across the bridge over which it stood watch, the castle was imposing and resolute. Strategically placed, the massive Keep and its thick walls had replaced the first Motte and Bailey castle built after The Bastard, Duke William had invaded. Rising from the ground one hundred and twenty five feet into the sky, men were afforded amazing views from each of the four towers. The views were both remarkable in distance, and necessary for its defence. The castle was built on a slight uphill gradient leading to a hill on its south. A large ditch surrounded the outer walls, partially filled by the river at high tide, leaving slime and sludge when it withdrew.
Twice in its lifetime this commanding structure had suffered from siege, and twice it had punished the attackers and made them bleed deeply before they managed to enter. Both victories had been hollow, as the castle still stood. The Keep firm, solid and impervious to the siege engines flinging their great stones at its massive walls, only to bounce off like pebbles on a Knights shield. Strangely, the towers were all square except the south eastern one, which had been rebuilt as a round tower. The original had been toppled by the cunning of King John fifty years earlier when he dug a mine under the foundations during the siege of 1215. A murderous two months during which time both sides suffered grievous losses. The castle, garrisoned by rebels, had stood against the King, but now, half a century later, the castle stood for the King and prepared to face the rebels of the day.
Within the castle walls preparations were hastily being made for a siege. It was coming, but no one was sure when. The city population was scared and knew if the rebels entered there would be widespread killing, looting and raping. The city walls were firm and strong, but they would not keep out a determined army, for safety the castle was the place to be, and even that wasn’t guaranteed.
There was only one way into the castle, and that was across the drawbridge which spanned the moat then through the main gate leading into the outer bailey. The city itself spread to the north and east of the castle and included the Cathedral built by Bishop Gundulf, also the builder of the castle that protected it. The Great Keep however was built by William de Corbeil, the Archbishop of Canterbury who designed it to be almost impregnable.
Over five hundred people lived in and around the city, and as a main route from Dover through to London it was a major centre for commerce, the river adding to the trade and wealth. The city walls encompassed both the city and the Cathedral, with the southern city wall joining the south east drum tower which sat in the shadow of the Great Keep.
The sound of the alarm bell being struck was clearly heard by the men on the hill, ‘It seems,’ said Henry, ‘we have made an impact.’ He narrowed his eyes as he watched men pointing in their direction while running along the city walls. Glancing slightly to his left, he watched as more men appeared on top of the Keep and stared in their direction. He knew they had no idea who they were, and would have assumed they were rebels.
Henry looked at his knights with a feeling of satisfaction that he could have such a group of men to fight with. He thrived on their loyalty and they knew he would return their loyalty tenfold. The men and horses were heavily laden with weapons, armour and shields and the journey had been a long one. The pack horses that accompanied them were led by four of the ablest squires from his retinue and they sat behind the line of men ready to do whatever was asked of them.
The man beside Henry spoke, ‘Perhaps we should put them out of their misery.’
Henry took a deep breath, ‘Aye, maybe we should.’ He nudged his horse forward and made his way down the hill towards the Roman road, his men following in file.
The city guards had been vigilant, and as soon as the line of horsemen had been seen on the hill the alarm bell had been sounded sending men running up the stone steps to the battlements. They watched patiently as the horsemen trickled down the hillside joining the Roman road and making their way slowly towards the city, finally stopping short of the east gate which remained firmly closed. Crossbowmen stood above the gate with their bolts aimed firmly at the exhausted and bedraggled riders.
Henry looked up at the guards, ‘Open the gates.’
A voice carried down to the waiting riders, ‘State your name and purpose.’
Henry turned to the man next to him and smiled, he looked up and using his most officious voice shouted back, ‘I am Henry of Almain with kni
ghts and squires on the Kings business, and I demand entry!’
The statement didn’t have the desired effect. The guard commander remained impassive as he stared down at the riders. He removed his helmet and spat over the wall, ‘I think not.’
Henry stopped smiling and nudged his horse forward a few steps, ‘I’m too tired for these games, unless you are a rebel traitor you will open the gates and allow me entry.’
His men looked at each other and started to get restless, swords were loosened and the exhaustion they suffered was pushed aside as they became alert and aware they might have arrived too late.
The guard commander looked behind him before he replied, ‘I have my orders....no one enters unless the Captain says.’
‘And where is the Captain?’ Henry asked wearily.
‘I’m here!’ A man appeared next to the guard commander, an image that once seen would never be forgotten; beard, thick, monstrous and as white as the winter snow adorned a craggy face topped by a head as smooth as a newly laid egg. Even from the road outside the city he looked as wide as he was tall and his voice conveyed authority and respect from those two words alone. Placing his hands on the thick stonework he leant forward through the crenulations and looked harshly at the men on the horse below him, ‘Sir Henry of Almain?’
Henry looked up and smiled, ‘Sir Gilbert Beauchamp!’
Gilbert stared at Henry and grinned; he turned his head and shouted at the men in the gate house, ‘Open the gate, it’s the Kings nephew!’
Voices were raised, and the scuffling of feet behind the walls and frantically shouted orders was evidence of the sudden panic that ensued. Henry waited patiently as the gates opened agonizingly slowly.
The guard commander came stumbling forward, red faced that he hadn’t recognised a member of the Kings family, ‘My Lord, I apologise…..’
Henry grunted and rode past him, his men following in file. As he entered the city he stopped and looked up at the battlement to where Gilbert stood watching him, ‘It’s good to see you again, old man!’