The rider sighed and thought about his options which were limited. He couldn’t return to the castle now and he wondered how much pain he would feel before he died. His morbid thoughts were disturbed by a raised voice.
‘What’s your name?’
One of the pursuers had ridden his horse out of the tree line and waited on the edge of the meadow. He called out again, ‘You’re trapped, what’s your name?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Aye, it does. I like to know the name of my prisoner!’
‘Your prisoner!’ The rider drew his sword, ‘My name is Richard of High Farley and I am not your prisoner.’
The men in the tree line laughed, ‘You can’t escape Richard of High Farley and you can’t fight all four of us, so I think you are my prisoner.’
Richard looked at his adversary, a young man of similar age and build. Maybe no more than twenty years but very obviously the man in command. He returned his sword to his scabbard and nudged his horse’s flanks while tugging gently at the reins. The horse slowly but obligingly pulled her hooves out of the mud and slowly turned to face the enemy. Richard slouched carelessly in his saddle and half grinned at the man opposite him, ‘I don’t think I want to be a prisoner today,’ he stated with more bravado than he felt. ‘I think I’ll stay here........anyway you know my name, what is yours?’
‘I am Martin of Stayle, man at arms and troop leader in the army of Simon de Montfort.’
‘Impressive,’ replied Richard.
‘I had a good teacher.’
‘So did I.’
‘Are you going to fight?’ Martin asked.
Richard wiped the moisture from his forehead, ‘I thought about it.'
‘It would be a waste of your life.'
Richards’s horse snorted as her breathing eased and he leant forward, patted her neck and stroked it, ‘Aye, it would be a shame if we both died today.'
He sat up straight but kept his hand away from his sword. Both men tried to gauge the other. They could have been brothers or in another time friends at least. But one fought for the King and thought the other a traitor; the other fought for the barons and thought the royalist the traitor.
‘My Lord would like to speak to you.'
‘I’m sure he would,’ remarked Richard.
Martin had no desire to kill anyone that day, his mission was to capture a prisoner and that he had done, ‘You give me your word you will not try to escape and you can keep your blades.'
Richard looked around at the tree line, still trying to find a way out, ‘I fancy I’ll keep my blades anyway, unless you care to come and take them!’
Richards’s counterpart turned his head away and spoke to the men behind him. He strained to hear but the words were too low and muffled. He watched as one of the remaining horsemen dismounted and started to unbuckle something strapped to the side of his horse.
Martin turned back to Richard, ‘You have a choice. You can come over here, or as you said, you can stay there.’
Richard looked confused, ‘What?’
Martin gave a cold grin as he continued, ‘Of course if you choose to stay there,’ he indicated toward the man who had dismounted and walked onto the edge of the meadow carrying a loaded crossbow, ‘my friend here will use you as target practice,’ his grin disappeared and he paused to let Richard think about the options.
Richard cursed, sat up straight and yanked back on his horse’s reins forcing the beast to extricate herself from the mud and walk backwards. The mud clung to her hooves like a vice and she trembled as she started to panic.
‘The horse will die first!’ Martin shouted.
Richards’s horse managed to move back half its length but it struggled with each movement, her head fighting against the taught reins pulling her head into her chest affecting her already precarious balance. Richard released the reins as he saw the crossbow pointed in his direction. The horse relaxed again and shook her head, frustrated at the way her legs had been ensnared.
Richard stared at Martin and accepted there was no way out except forwards. He raised his right hand and resigned to his fate called out before the bolt was released, ‘Wait!’
Martin raised his left arm and the man with the crossbow relaxed and pointed the weapon at the ground. Richard looked at the four men facing him. He considered he must look a sorry sight, bedraggled and filthy and trapped in mud atop his horse. Not the way he thought his day would end. He knew he would have to trust the men staring at him wouldn’t treat him too harshly as a prisoner. He’d heard some bad stories about men taken as prisoners in battle and they were not pleasant stories to hear.
He called out to his captor, ‘Very well, it seems I am your prisoner after all.’
Martin looked round at the men with him and smiled before turning back to Richard, ‘Just remember the crossbow, Richard of High Farley.’
Richard nudged his horse in the flanks and spoke words of encouragement to her, ‘Come on, forward, come on girl.’ The mare stiffly pulled her hooves out of the mud and moved forward at a slow pace, the squelching noise of the mud being displaced was the only sound as she slowly carried her rider towards the four rebels.
They were two horses’ lengths away when Martin finally spoke again, ‘Stop there!’
The crossbow was pointing directly at Richard and for a few seconds he thought he had been tricked. He sat stiffly, staring at Martin with a look of contempt and waited for the bolt to fly through the air and punch its way through his mail and into his flesh. From that range it was possible.
‘I want your word,’ said Martin, ‘your word you won’t try and escape.’
Richard looked at the crossbow and the bolt’s gleaming steel tip that would rip into him before he would be able to react. He nodded, ‘Aye, you have my word. I’ll not try to escape.’
Martin waved the crossbow back down and moved his horse to one side, ‘If your word is good you can keep your blades.’ He waved Richard forward and waited until he was back on solid ground before moving close to him, ‘You’re to meet the Earl of Leicester. He is a good man and holds stock by a man’s promise. Do you understand what I am saying?’
‘I do.’
‘Then let us be civil to each other and enjoy the ride back,’ said Martin. ‘You’ll ride beside me but forgive me if Phillip keeps his crossbow ready.’
Richard turned to look at Phillip behind him, crossbow across his thighs; he grinned at Richard.
The journey back through the woods was uneventful and Richard was surprised at the distance he had been pursued. He had been part of a three man patrol sent by de Capo to find de Montfort and report back with estimates on the size of his army and where they were. The patrol had decided to split up and take three different routes. Richard was fortunate enough to have chosen the correct route, but less fortunate due to the geography of the land and been seen by Martin and his men as he rounded a copse on the side of an escarpment. Had he gone through the copse he would have been hidden and been able to see de Montfort’s army weaving its way through the Downs of Kent; a series of chalk hills and valleys that wound its way down to the south coast.
Richard had cursed as the cry went up that he had been spotted and he turned his horse and prayed she would perform as he knew she could. The run was hard and long but his horse was strong and willing and he knew he would be able to reach the river before the men trying to chase him down. He also had the advantage that he knew the land as he came from a hamlet on top of the North Downs. He had weaved through the woods, jumping across the streams, some of which were hidden and taken his pursuers on a route that crisscrossed tracks, through woodland thickets and along streams that were still flowing fast due to the recent rain. But despite what he knew about the land, he didn’t know about the meadow. That came as a surprise to him and with hindsight he realised he had taken one wrong turning which had led him to make the worst decision of his life thus far. Now he was being escorted as a prisoner of the rebels and being taken to t
heir leader. Not the day he was expecting.
Martin was talking in a manner that belied his purpose and Richard had to remember he was in the company of men who would kill him if ordered, not in the company of friends. But Martin spoke to him as if he were a friend and despite the crossbow ready to cut him down if he made a wrong move Richard was glad of the opportunity to talk. The one thing he understood very quickly was Martin believed in the Barons and their parliament. He also believed their fight was right and had the blessing of the Holy Father.
‘The Pope also believes in parliament,’ said Martin, ‘and the sooner the King realises the sooner we can have peace in this country.’
‘But the King is appointed by God,’ Richard declared, ‘and who are we to decide otherwise?’
Martin chuckled, ‘He may be appointed by God but he is crowned by a man and in my eyes if a man placed it on his head a man can remove it. Then, my royalist friend, God can appoint another King if that is what we need!’
‘So you don’t believe this country needs a King?’ Richard was confused, ‘How would the country be ruled? By a group of Barons who already swap sides when the habit takes them?’
‘The King is corrupt and takes advice from his Queens Frenchie relatives,’ Martin spat on the ground, an act to ward away any evil at the mention of the Queen, ‘God damned French!’
Richard glanced at his enemy and nodded in agreement, ‘Aye, I’m with you on that one, you can damn the French, but as a Kings man I cannot curse the Queen!’
‘I wouldn’t expect you to,’ said Martin, ‘any more than I would curse the Barons.’
Within an hour they had left the forest and joined the road to London. Richard was enjoying the argument but fell silent when they reached the head of de Montfort’s army. He was more than impressed with the discipline he saw. He had heard it was a rabble coming to attack them. What he saw was a well-armed and dangerous looking foe and he realised Rochester would have a fight on its hands. A group of horsemen sat at the side of the highway watching the column as it moved slowly towards Rochester and he guessed one of them would be Simon de Montfort.
Richard and his captors stopped a short distance away, ‘Wait here,’ ordered Martin.
‘Which one is de Montfort?’ Richard asked.
Martin’s tone had changed as he answered, ‘The one in red. Only speak when you’re spoken to, do you understand?’
Richard nodded and was immediately boxed in by the remaining three men as Martin approached de Montfort and spoke to him, all the while turning and pointing at his prisoner.
After less than a minute Martin turned his horse and walked back to Richard, ‘You are to hand over your blades and dismount; you are to talk to the Earl.’
‘Am I to be tortured?’
‘I cannot say.’
Richard fidgeted nervously and looked into Martins eyes for any sign he was about to be cut down. He glanced at his escort who were watching, hands on hilts and thought quick and hard about his next move.
Martin gave a small cough and Richard looked up, ‘Your weapons Richard, you gave your word.’
Richard took a deep breath and nodded, he would be foolish to try and run; how far would he get? Thus far he had been treated well enough. He nodded, carefully unbuckled his belt and handed over his weapons. Once dismounted he was escorted across to Simon de Montfort who sat on his horse and continued talking to the man beside him, seemingly oblivious of the prisoner standing next to him.
Richard took the time to study the man; he had heard much about him but had never seen him let alone met him. Now here he was, a prisoner before the battle had even started and wondering if his head would decorate a spike very shortly. Simon de Montfort had a bearing about him that exuded authority and respect. Renowned for his exploits in the field, both in England and abroad, he was a man to whom his men would willingly offer loyalty, simply for his thanks.
Richard studied his face and was taken aback when de Montfort turned to face him and smiled, ‘Richard of High Farley?’
Richard nodded, and tried not to avert his eyes, ‘Yes my Lord.’
‘I myself have passed through High Farley during this campaign…..good honest folk I met there.’
Richard found himself instantly captivated by the man’s friendly manner and struggled to keep his composure knowing he could have order him killed or tortured at any moment. He took a deep breath and replied in a firm voice knowing that to show nervousness would make him look foolish, ‘They are good, honest and loyal subjects of the King, my Lord.’
‘Ah yes, the King.’ De Montfort looked at his army before returning his gaze to Richard, ‘You would consider yourself a loyal subject to the King?’
Richard tried to keep his face blank, ‘I would my Lord.’
‘And what about your loyalty to this country?’ De Montfort looked down at Richard with eyebrows raised.
‘I believe my loyalty is not in question my Lord, I am an Englishman fighting for an English King.’
‘And a French Queen!’ de Montfort retorted, ‘a French Queen who controls an English King......now tell me......who are the commanders in the castle?’
Richard knew anyone seeing the standards flying on top of the Keep would know the Sheriff of Kent was present. There would probably be a parley before the siege started. He was confused; his spies would have told him so this was an answer he would already have, ‘The Sheriff, the Earl of Surrey and the Earl of Arundel my Lord.’
‘Is that it?’
‘Ralf de Capo my Lord.’
‘Ah yes, Sir Ralf de Capo,’ stated de Montfort, ‘’don’t forget de Capo….what can you tell me about de Capo?’
‘He was chosen by the King to hold the castle; he has a reputation for mercy but I have heard he is a swordsman second to none.’
‘I hear he bought his Lady with him.’
‘Aye,’ said Richard, ‘the Lady Blanche, a fine woman.’
‘Strange he should bring his Lady to a siege, eh?’
Richard shrugged, ‘I cannot answer that one my Lord.’
‘Of course you can’t,’ de Montfort stared at Richard, ‘anyone else I should know about?’
The question was laced with a threat and Richard realised de Montfort was asking questions some of which he already knew the answer to. He would never know if de Montfort knew he was lying or not. There was no doubt he had his spies and he was certain to know more than he would admit. Richard decided he was unlikely to give any information that would make any difference to the defence of the castle, he didn’t waver and spoke clearly knowing what he said next might get a response if de Montfort didn’t know already, ‘Sir Henry of Almain and a score of Knights entered the castle yesterday my Lord.’ Richard tried hard not to smile when De Montfort’s eyes betrayed him as they widened almost imperceptibly for a fraction of a second.
De Montfort continued as if nothing had happened, ‘I am told the bridge has been blockaded and the ground spiked, tell me Richard, how many men will guard the bridge?’
‘In truth my Lord?’ Richard shook his head and shrugged, ‘I do not know, but we have archers aplenty.’
De Montfort looked disturbed and dismounted, four Knights from his personal guard followed suit and stood to the sides, ‘Walk with me.’
Richard followed the Earl to the top of the hummock behind them and stood next to him. The Earl was slightly taller but still able to look him in the eyes and he knew if he told a lie his own eyes would betray him.
The Earl looked into his face for several seconds before asking, ‘Where are the nearest boats to be found?’
‘There are boats in the blockade but they have all been holed, there are no boats on this side of the river.’
‘I see!’ De Montfort looked past Richards shoulder, ‘You have a fine looking horse.’ He turned his head and called back to the knight mounted beside his own horse, ‘What do you say Jaxon, a fine looking horse?’
‘Aye my Lord, a fine looking horse,’ Jaxon didn?
??t smile nor did he look at the horse but sat stern faced watching the passing army.
‘You wish to keep your horse?’ de Montfort asked.
‘I am your prisoner my Lord, I keep my horse at your pleasure’.
‘You keep your head at my pleasure,’ replied de Montfort as Jaxon gave a small smile. ‘If you could not get across the bridge, what were you to do?’
Richard looked at de Montfort uneasily, ‘My Lord?’
‘Simple question Richard, if you cannot use the bridge, do you run or swim? They can ill afford to lose fighting men, so there must be a boat,’ de Montfort gave a half smile, ‘am I right?’
Richard knew there was no point lying. When he reached the river his men would find the boat soon enough. The orders were to use the boat if the bridge was too dangerous. Three stones had been left in the boat and each man would remove a stone as he returned and crossed the bridge. If there was only one stone left, whoever found it would know he was the last man. If there were more than one stone and the bridge could not be crossed, those at the boat would wait until the last possible moment for the last man before they made their way across the river, simple and fool proof, ‘Aye my Lord, there is one small boat for us to use if the bridge cannot be crossed.’
De Montfort looked smug as he always did when he was proven right. The two men stood no more than two feet from each other, ‘I know your patrols consist of three men Richard, so tell me,’ de Montfort inclined his head and smiled at his prisoner, ‘where are they?’
Richard shrugged, there was no lie to tell, ‘We separated this morning to look for you in three different directions. I have no idea where they are now. I’m the lucky one who found you.’
Neither man smiled at the dark humour.
‘And here you will stay,’ said the Earl as he moved slightly closer to Richard and stretched his arms. It would have been very easy for Richard to grab de Montfort’s dagger and plunge it deep into his chest before his guards could respond. The castle would be saved and it would only cost his life. He looked down at the weapon and weighed up his chances.
‘It would be a waste of your life boy!’
Richard looked down at the ground realising de Montfort had been testing him, waiting for him to make an attempt on his life, testing how good his word was, ‘Why haven’t you killed me?’