‘Each man has ten.’
‘Is that all?’
The archer leant on his bow in the lethargic way they all seemed to have, ‘Aye, only ten, the Smith was unable to make any more in the short time he had.’
‘Make them count,’ said Sir Geoffrey as the enemy slowly made their way back towards the woods, all the while looking back at the defenders who continued to hurl abuse at them.
The Templar commander watched carefully as the riders disappeared into the tree line.
One of his Templar Knights stood next to him, ‘They are a long way from home.’
Sir Geoffrey nodded, ‘Aye, a long way from home.’ He stared at the enemy before looking round as the patrol charged through the east gate, the horse scrabbling on the slippery surface.
Men shouted and leapt out of the way as the rider tried to control the worn and panicked horse. Two men eventually grabbed the reins and bought the blown animal to a halt, the rider sat exhausted and dazed as he glanced about him.
Henry and de Capo cantered along the road, their horses sliding to a halt on the wet ground in front of the patrol. Henry held back as de Capo pulled up in front of the exhausted man who was breathing heavily, covered in mud and blood with a wound to his left shoulder and a cut running down the left side of his face from the temple, a flap of skin hanging loose,
‘You’ve seen de Clare’s army?’
The rider leant forward and glanced about while wiping spittle from his mouth, gasping for breath he replied, ‘Yes my Lord….thousands of them.’
‘And?’ de Capo was impatient for news, ‘Come on man! And? How far away are they?’
The rider slumped his shoulders, clearly exhausted, ‘Less than an hour!’
It was clear he had fought hard and from the state of him was lucky to have survived. De Capo looked up at Sir Geoffrey who stood on the wall listening, ‘What happened to the others?’
‘Ambush my Lord….two miles the other side of Boley Hill, those knights fell on us and we tried to fight our way through, the others fell while I managed to escape, and you saw the rest.’
‘What about siege engines?’
The wounded man shook his head, ‘I’m not sure my Lord,’ he took a deep breath, ‘they have wagons loaded with large timbers that look like they could be trebuchets or mangonels.’
‘You said thousands, how many horse?’
The man grunted and coughed and wiped his nose and mouth smearing blood from the cut, ‘Two, maybe three hundred.’
De Capo nodded and slapped the wounded man on the leg, ‘Get yourself to the Keep and get the wound seen to.’
De Capo and Henry both dismounted and climbed the steps to the wall while the wounded rider rode off at a trot towards the castle, ‘Sir Geoffrey,’ said de Capo as he approached the Templar commander, ‘a close call!’
‘One of many I’m sure,’ the Templar looked concerned and stared out over the houses and buildings that made up Rochester, ‘are you going to fire the city?’
De Capo followed his gaze, ‘I think I’ll wait until de Clare arrives. I want him to see the city burn; he will get nothing from us!’
~
After sending a man to find FitzAlan with orders to man the walls for an imminent attack De Capo, Henry and Sir Geoffrey walked along the south wall of the city towards the east gate. They spoke to the men offering words of encouragement and advice. The east wall was manned with fewer men than the south wall and the three Knights continued together as far as the north eastern corner and spoke to the sergeant at arms who commanded the twelve men on the north wall.
Walking back along the east wall they discussed tactics once the rebels entered the city. They were under no illusion they would be able to hold the city walls for long. They had no reserves and as men fell there would be no one to take their place. The three knights all wore arming swords on their sides being the standard sword, although a number of men preferred the shorter and heavier falchion. Both weapons would create a fearsome wound, especially against the heads of men climbing ladders to storm the walls. The defenders had the initial advantage behind the walls but this would very quickly be lost if large numbers of the enemy managed to get inside the city.
An idea formed in de Capo’s head and he muted it with the two men, ‘Is it worth the risk?’
The Templar spoke before Henry could reply, ‘If it’s too risky for Sir Henry and his rogues, the Templar’s are always ready.’ He grinned and slapped Henry on the shoulder,
‘Well, Sir Henry, too risky?
Henry puffed out his chest and gripped Sir Geoffrey’s forearm, ‘Too risky for Templar’s I fear,’ he turned to de Capo, ‘if we fail, it cannot be done!’
De Capo smiled, ‘Good, all we can do now is wait.’
They continued their walk back along the southern wall, pointing out features on the land and the city that might cause problems in the battle. More men were joining the walls and de Capo was pleased to see men from the city arriving to join the fight. Everyone was on edge, but that was to be expected. It was still unclear exactly how many of the enemy were marching on Rochester and they were halfway along the south wall when de Capo stopped and looked up at the Keep towering over them. He thought of Blanche as Henry and the Templar looked at each other unaware de Capo had more to lose than any of them!
~
The injured man rode through the main gate of the castle into the outer bailey, his eyes darted from left to right and the guards watched him with some interest due to his injuries. He was slouched in the saddle, exhausted and weakened by his ordeal, the blood on his face and over his mail and surcoat evidence he had fought and survived. His horse carried him across to the stables and he dismounted with some difficulty and he handed his reins to the stable boy who looked at him in awe. Handing the boy a coin for his trouble the man slowly walked across the outer bailey towards the gate leading into the inner bailey and the Keep.
Although the blood had started to congeal, when the wound was cleaned it would be reopened before being cauterised by a hot iron; not something for the faint hearted. The blood on his face was smeared and gave the impression his skin was discoloured and from a distance his mail looked as if it was covered in rust. He walked past the guards at the gate of the cross wall, and nodded to them, they nodded back, subtle enough to keep their mouths shut when they saw his injuries. He walked up the steps of the Keep, stopped in the entrance and looked back at the route he had taken. He gave an appreciative grunt when he saw he hadn’t been followed or aroused any suspicion. The hardest part had been when he was unexpectedly questioned by de Capo, but there had been nothing he said that led to any person not believing he was who he purported to be.
His name was Bradyn and he was chosen because he was English. His fellow knights were various nationalities and despite their adeptness at the language none of them were as fluent as Bradyn apart from de Chauvigny and de Balon who was also English, but they could not carry out this task. He wore the Kings colours on his surcoat, a surcoat that until recently had adorned another man’s body. That man and his comrades now lay rotting in the woods to the south, ambushed and massacred by de Chauvigny and his men on route to the city.
Chance favoured the reckless. Coming across the patrol and being able to obtain a surcoat with the Kings colours made it easier to get one of their men inside the city. Bradyn pushed his mail coif back to hang down his back and ran his hands over his close cropped hair. The flap of skin fell away from the side of his face and dropped onto the floor, a souvenir from one of the slaughtered patrol that helped his ruse. He kicked it to one side before anyone realised what it was and started to ask questions. The wound on his face was real though, a previous scar caused by a Mameluk blade during the days he was part of the terror de Chauvigny visited upon the people of the Holy land. It had been reopened by one of his men and was an ugly gash that created the illusion of a new wound. It had healed before and would heal again.
He stood in the Fore build
ing, the main entrance to the castle and looked into the inner hall. The interior of the Keep was split into two halves, separated by a thick stone supporting wall. In the centre was an internal recess giving the occupants access to the well below the Keep. He knew there was access to the well from all the floors. An internal water supply, one of the remarkable assets of Rochester castle Keep with a fully stocked armoury and a cool chamber beneath the keep where food could be stored for months without rotting.
He moved aside as servants and soldiers continued to rush in and out of the Keep, his task was simple, become part of the garrison, stay inside the Keep and bide his time and carry out his orders. He glanced about for a few seconds more, just to get his bearings when Ranulf appeared from the north east corner stairs. Bradyn looked at him; he was tall and muscular and over his mail wore a dark blue surcoat with yellow inverted chevrons, a crest that was unfamiliar to Bradyn who wore the crest of the King of England on his own surcoat, the three Lions.
Ranulf glanced at him as he walked towards the Fore building before stopping to face him, ‘Are you the patrol?’
Bradyn nodded, ‘Aye.’
‘How far away are they?’
‘Close’
‘You’re injured!’ It wasn’t a question but a statement.
Bradyn nodded, ‘Aye.’
‘You’ll want the surgeon?’
Bradyn coughed and made a show of pain in his left shoulder, ‘I was told he was here.’
Ranulf shook his head, ‘No, he’s over at the Bridge.’
Bradyn kept eye contact with Ranulf a fraction longer than he needed and Ranulf watched curiously as Bradyn nodded his thanks and quickly walked out of the keep and down the steps into the inner bailey. Ranulf had seen part of the chase from the top of the Keep and watched as the enemy riders had been stopped by the archers. Now he had met the man who had been hunted so vigorously he was uneasy, something wasn’t right. In these days men only survived when they learnt to trust their instincts and he had learnt that lesson a long time ago. He automatically adjusted his sword and loosened it as he stood at the top of the steps and stared at the back of the wounded man.
Chapter Fourteen
Gilbert de Clare sat on his horse inside the tree line staring at the city walls when his scout returned from checking the bank on the opposite side of the river, ‘Unless they are hiding my Lord, I cannot see any sign of Sir Simon from this side.’
The scout looked quizzical when de Clare grinned; it was not an everyday occurrence that anyone saw him pleased about anything.
He nodded, waved the scout away and turned to Humfrey, ‘It looks like we are first, as we should be, bring them up, let de Capo see what he is facing and get that little fat Irish bastard pounding the Keep.’
‘You don’t want to parley first?’
His grin vanished as if it had never been, ‘I don’t parley with traitors,’ he snarled as he looked about, ‘and where are de Chauvigny and his men?
Humfrey shrugged, ‘I’ve not seen him. I’ll find him and ask him to report to you.’
De Clare’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Humfrey, ‘You won’t ask him anything, you’ll tell him to report to me, this is my fight not his. I want to know what’s been happening.’
Humfrey nodded as he and two knights wheeled their horses away to find Faelan and give instructions to the army.
Although not as high as the Keep, anyone standing on top of Boley Hill could see into both baileys and this is what made the hill a weak point for the defence of the castle. Beyond Boley Hill, to the south west, there was an area of dead ground that could not be observed from the city or even the top of the keep. Beyond that the ground rose in a gentle uphill gradient for three miles before dropping sharply into the valley below. That led down to the market town of Meddestone sitting at the side of the river Medway that wound its way south between the hills of North Kent.
De Clare’s army had followed the river to avoid dragging the heavy trebuchet wagons uphill from Meddestone, approaching the city from the south west. Apart from the wagons, which had stopped at the southern base of Boley Hill out of sight of the sentries in the towers, the rest of the army had stopped in the woodland filling the dead ground between Boley Hill and the southern slope. Once they received their orders, the entire army less two hundred who stayed to protect the trebuchets moved to the dead ground to the east of Boley Hill and awaited the signal to move forward.
De Clare watched the men on the walls and wondered if de Capo was one of those he could see. The sound of a horn to the south made him turn his head. He watched with a look of satisfaction as four hundred mounted Knights and men at Arms appeared in a line on the crest of the dead ground and moved forwards a hundred paces before stopping. Behind them a line of archers and crossbowmen with the pavise shields strapped to their backs appeared in two lines. Walking between the horses they stopped ten paces closer to the city walls. Three hundred men ready to let loose a hail of arrows and bolts on the defenders.
De Clare rode out of the woods, and approached his army as the remaining two thousand men streamed over the crest armed with swords, battle axes, pikes, maces and war hammers. Most men wore mail, some wore plate but they were all armed and ready to fight. De Clare was a hard task master but even he was impressed with the sight as his men stood motionless behind their shields.
Behind them one hundred men carried ladders, four men to each one and these were the men chosen to lead the assault on the walls, all volunteers and all aware of the danger but also of the glory and the prizes that lay within the city. Blood lust filled their eyes and they stared at the wall that would give them glory or death!
~
De Capo walked along the south wall accompanied by Henry and Sir Geoffrey. The walls were fully manned; the men alert and the numbers swollen by men from the city. It seemed Henry’s interlude with the bishop had worked and the citizens realised they could not rely on the small number of fighting men prepared to risk their lives to protect them. The time had come to take sides and men appeared with an assortment of weapons from double headed battle axes and war hammers down to falchions and spears. Those who had no weapons or shields were soon armed and placed next to men who had fighting experience.
‘If nothing else the walls will look heavily manned,’ said Sir Geoffrey, ‘might even make them think twice before they try and climb them.’
‘Any advantage,’ replied de Capo as he glanced up at the Keep again and thought about Blanche, ‘any advantage could make the difference.’ He smiled knowing the women were in the safest place, but the smile soon vanished when the murmur that passed through the men on the wall made all three men turn and stare at the horde that appeared out of the dead ground to the south.
The three men stood motionless as the men on the wall glanced at one another. A shout went up from the Keep and men who hadn’t already done so started to run to their positions.
Sir Geoffrey and Henry both looked at de Capo.
‘Burn the city,’ he said, his face a mask of resolve, ‘Burn it now!’
~
Gilbert de Clare rode in front of the army with his squire and personal guard behind him. He faced the silent ranks as they stared at the walls they would soon have to attack. They all knew why they were there, and if not he didn’t care as long as they fought and bled for him.
He turned slightly as Humfrey cantered along the line of men and pulled up next to him, ‘Well?’ De Clare hunched his shoulders as a low whisper spread through the ranks of men in front of him, ‘Did you find him?’
‘I found him my Lord, and he’s already met the enemy, he says he will join us once his men have been treated.’
‘What!’
‘Several of his men have been injured.’
De Clare’s eyes narrowed, ‘How?’
The whispering increased in volume and de Clare glanced at his men.
Humfrey viewed the army with a puzzled expression, ‘Happened just before we arrived. The
y were chasing their man into the city and got too close to the walls and their archers.’
‘Any killed?’
‘No, but the arrows pierced their armour causing some injuries, but not serious.’
‘Pierced the armour! Pass that around Humfrey, I don’t want to lose my knights, make sure they keep their shields high.’
The men ranked before de Clare glanced at each other, and the whispering that had been spreading through the ranks increased in volume, ‘De Clare snapped his head round, ‘QUIET....GOD DAMN YOU!’
One of the mounted knights caught Humfrey’s eye, and raising a hand, pointed towards the city, Humfrey twisted in his saddle and groaned, ‘My Lord!’
De Clare turned and stared at the City of Rochester as smoke started to drift towards the clouds. The smoke grew thicker and sparks rose into the air covering the skyline beyond the city walls. The crackling of the timber buildings as the flames took hold could now be heard clearly.
Humfrey shook his head, ‘He’s burning the city. He wants to leave us nothing!’
‘Bring the mangonels up,’ ordered de Clare, ‘concentrate on the east gate; the smoke will aid us, and I want the archers close and killing some of those bastards!’
‘And the ladders?’ Humfrey asked.
De Clare looked at the city and the heads of the men just standing on the walls staring across at him, the thick black smoke drifting slowly to the east, ‘Get the ladders ready but out of arrow range. Check the trebuchets, I want them working, NOW!’
Humfrey turned and gave instructions to a group of Knights in de Clare’s retinue and flinched as de Clare snarled ‘I expect to be in Rochester by tomorrow Humfrey, or heads will roll!’
Chapter Fifteen
Ranulf stood in the doorway above the small drawbridge which covered the muck filled pit. He watched the wounded man walk across to the gateway of the cross wall; the man didn’t look back and didn’t walk as if he had been injured. Ranulf knew from experience a sword cut, a gaping wound in the flesh hurt even the toughest man, and a wounded man always walked differently to any other. Ranulf narrowed his eyes as the man continued towards the main gate.