Movement behind him made him turn and automatically adjust his sword hilt moving his right hand towards it. He relaxed as he saw the Earl of Surrey standing behind him with his squire holding his helmet and shield.
‘An interesting view Sir Ranulf?’
‘Sir John, ready for the coming fight I see!’
‘Always ready to kill traitors,’ Sir John said, as he placed his hand on Ranulf’s shoulder, ‘I’ve just checked on the ladies, care to join me while I check the curtain walls?’
Ranulf nodded and both men left the safety of the Keep and walked across the inner bailey towards the cross wall gatehouse.
‘I’ve just seen Sir Roger and FitzAlan,’ said Sir John, ‘Sir Roger looks a bit flustered, you know a patrol has just returned blooded up?’
‘Aye, I’ve just seen him.’
‘You have? Where?’
‘In the Keep, just before you appeared, I sent him to the surgeon.’
‘The surgeon!’ Sir John snapped. ‘A pox on the surgeon, damned butcher, that’s what he is!’
‘Aye,’ agreed Ranulf, ‘a pox on all surgeons.’
Sir John looked at Ranulf, who stopped at the bottom of the steps leading up to the cross wall and stared through the gateway into the outer bailey, ‘Ranulf?’ He watched, irritated as Ranulf ignored him and continued to stare through the gate. ‘Sir Ranulf!’ he barked.
Ranulf still didn’t respond and Sir John huffed, shook his head and joined Ranulf at the gateway, ‘What’s so damn interesting? Your mind seems to be occupied and this is the wrong time to be worrying about anything other than the coming fight.’
Ranulf indicated through the gateway with a nod of his head, ‘See that man?’
Sir John stared at the figure walking towards the main gate, ‘Aye, what of him?’
‘Does he look wounded to you?’
‘Doesn’t walk as if he’s wounded, and I’ve seen plenty of wounded men, who is he?’
As Bradyn walked through the main gate and disappeared from sight, Ranulf shook his head and sighed, ‘The man from the patrol, he has wounds and the blood to match, but.....’
‘But what?’
‘It doesn’t matter, I may be mistaken.’ He stopped talking and turned at the sound of footsteps to see Sir Roger and FitzAlan walking briskly towards them.
Sir Roger stopped in front of both men, ‘Have you seen the patrol yet?’
‘Briefly,’ replied Ranulf, ‘he’s gone to see the surgeon.’
‘God bless the archers, eh? They did their job.’ Sir Roger looked past Ranulf and Sir John, ‘Where’s Sir Ralf?’
‘My guess,’ said Sir John, ‘is he is in the city, probably on the south wall.’
Sir Roger thanked both men and strode off with FitzAlan to find de Capo while Sir John and Ranulf ascended to the cross wall gatehouse and walked towards the east curtain wall.
An unexpected roar mixed with the shouts of the sentries in the towers and the sudden ringing of alarm bells from the towers and city walls pushed aside any other thoughts. Both men glanced at each other.
‘De Clare!’ snapped the Earl as they both ran along the curtain wall and up the steps of the south east drum tower. The emerged at the top to be greeted by the sight de Clare’s army.
‘TREBUCHETS!’
The cry was shrill and pierced the ears of both men as they looked up at Boley Hill to see horses slowly dragging the dreaded siege engines, men pushing from behind in an effort to reach the summit. The defenders stared in disbelief at the trebuchets. They had been fitted with huge wheels, allowing them to be moved forward inches at a time while men laid wicker strips on the ground in front to stop them sinking into the earth. Normally they would have been built on the site they were to be used due to the size and weight, but here they were, already made.
Sir John and Ranulf looked at each other incredulously. They were easily within arrow range, but being protected by willow shields and huge palisades of wicker fencing several layers thick, not even the new style bodkins would have any effect at that range. The shouting and yelling from the city walls slowly subsided as the sergeants and commanders restored silence which, strangely, seemed to be more menacing than all the shouting, abuse and threats.
Ranulf and Sir John watched as the trebuchets were pushed into position, the only noise now being the shouting and haranguing made by the enemy soldiers on the hill as the engines creaked agonisingly to the flat summit, constantly protected by men slowly moving the wicker palisades forward. The sound of horses being thrashed and screamed at floated over the castle, and the stones that would soon be flying into the Keeps and against the walls were dragged along on the wagons that followed the trail of the trebuchets.
The army spreading out to the south also stood in silence as several riders stood talking in front of the first rank. While Ranulf and Sir John watched, they heard a low rumble as the men in the enemy ranks started to fidget and turn their heads. The men on horses turned, and stared at the city. Ranulf and Sir John glanced to their left and saw black smoke starting to rise into the air, mixed with the red embers of the wooden buildings that had been set alight.
Sir John turned to face Ranulf, ‘Sir Ralf has fired the city. You should return to the Keep. I fear it’s about to get damned bloody.’
Ranulf nodded and looked at the men who lined the walls of the castle and the city. He glanced up at the keep, knowing there would be archers lining the battlements waiting to rain death down on anyone who tried to breach the south curtain wall. There was nothing more he could do here, the first attack was imminent. If they could hold the rebels off for the next twenty four hours they might have a chance.
He gripped Sir John’s forearm, ‘For God and the King.’
~
The servants inside the Keep were frantic with fear and Ranulf knew they needed a purpose to stop them from causing a panic. He ordered all the male servants to arm themselves and attend the city walls to help with the wounded and stoke the fires for boiling water, but most importantly be prepared to fight. Any women and children he sent to the cathedral with a soldier to ensure there were no disputes with the Bishop and once he was satisfied he could do no more he made his way to the Archbishops chambers. He thought of Evelyn and for the first time in his life feared death!
~
De Capo stood next to Henry on the city’s south wall and they watched as de Clare’s army manoeuvred into position. The east gate was their target as mangonels were slowly pushed to the east of the city. The wicker shields were manhandled slowly, protecting the men operating them. Archers, and crossbowmen protected by their Pavise shields had moved in close to the city walls on the south side. They stayed clear of the south gate, protected by the men on and in the Keep.
The mangonels were within range of the royalist longbows but it was extreme range and the accuracy would be poor, coupled with the wicker shield any shaft sent their way was likely to be wasted. They decided to concentrate on the enemy archers and any other person within killing distance. The main body of de Clare’s army waited in ranks with groups of men standing in front with ladders ready to storm the walls.
Even with all the preparations de Capo feared they would still be short of arrows and bolts. Iron cauldrons containing boiling water hung over fire pits hastily dug into the ground at points along the south wall. The servants from the Keep joined the younger squires and stable boys ready to haul buckets of boiling water on to the battlements to pour into the faces of the enemy.
De Capo knew there was always something more he could have done but lack of time prevented that, he had to trust the King would arrive before it was too late. He looked at Henry and nodded, ‘Your men are ready?’
Henry nodded, ‘Aye, ready and impatient.’
‘They understand what they have to do?’
‘They do.’
‘God be with you.’
The two knights gripped each other’s forearms and without another word Henry turned and walked along the battlements to th
e steps back down into the city. He raised a mailed hand to Sir Geoffrey who grinned back and raised his hand in salute.
De Capo shouted at the Templar commander who ran along the battlement to him, ‘We need to strengthen the east gate.’
Sir Geoffrey looked at the gate and the mangonels and nodded, shouting at men as he ran towards the gate.
De Capo looked up at Boley Hill and saw the trebuchets being prepared, their long arms being hauled back ready for the rocks that would be placed in their slings. The sky was black with smoke drifting to the east as he looked along the southern wall in both directions and tried to guess where the rebels would use their ladders. His view to the west was obstructed by the Cathedral. He was unable to see the bridge house and had to rely on messengers, one of whom was cantering along the road towards him. He turned hearing his name shouted and saw Sir Roger and FitzAlan striding along the battlements. He continued to look past both men at the messenger, his horse sliding in the mud as it came to a halt.
The rider looked up, ‘Sir Ralf, de Montfort’s army has arrived.’
De Capo took a deep breath and looked at the army to the south before facing Sir Roger and FitzAlan who stared grim faced at de Clare’s men. He turned back to the messenger, ‘How many?’
‘Sir Gilbert reckons three or four thousand, and they’re setting up mangonels.’
De Capo nodded his thanks, there was nothing more to say and the messenger pulled his horses head around and cantered back to the bridge. He stood with Sir Roger and FitzAlan and they silently stared at the force facing them, watching as de Clare’s mangonels were slowly pushed and hauled around to the east side of the city.
Sir Roger broke the silence, ‘Gilbert will deal with de Montfort. He is the best we have for the task; we need to deal with this rabble.’ He quickly assessed the situation realising as he glanced about him the city walls were still woefully undermanned, even with the men from the city, ‘How long do you think we can hold the walls?’
De Capo shook his head, ‘Not long enough!’
‘Well,’ Sir Roger watched in dismay as a rock flew through the air from the trebuchets on the hill and struck the keep before bouncing back off and falling towards the ditch, ‘they’ve started on the Keep so there will be no parley, not that I wanted to parley with the murdering bastard.’ He turned to de Capo, ‘I take it the order for no quarter still stands?’
De Capo stared across the battlements at the group of men sitting on horses in front of the ranks of foot soldiers waiting to attack. He could make out de Clare and without taking his eyes off him replied to Sir Roger, ‘No quarter, no prisoners, no surrender. It is time you returned to the castle, it is your flag that is raised and you should be there with Ranulf.’
Sir Roger shook his head, ‘I trust he will look after the Keep without me and you need all the men you can get here on this wall. This is my city and I will stay and fight.’
De Capo nodded, not prepared to counter that argument and exchanged looks with FitzAlan as Sir Roger drew his sword and strode along the battlements talking to the men.
De Capo saw the twelve men on the north wall were evenly spaced but they kept glancing to the south and east trying to see through the thickening smoke, ‘Sir John, if you please, watch the wall.’
FitzAlan nodded, ‘Aye.’
De Capo turned and quickly strode towards the east gate to assess the threat from that side.
Sir Geoffrey and a dozen men were frantically trying to strengthen the east gate with timbers. The hammering of nails mixed with the crackling of the flames as the City burnt with a ferocity normally associated with a funeral pyre, only this was a pyre for Rochester!
As the flames spread; so too did the heat. The backs of the defenders grew hot as it intensified and men turned to watch the flames that blazed in a hue of yellow and orange as they licked into the sky, fuelled by the timbers making up the city.
‘Face your front!’ FitzAlan screamed when he realised half the defenders were watching the flames, ‘Turn to the enemy, God damn!’
De Capo heard FitzAlan screaming at the men and smiled ironically as he walked into the east gate tower.
~
The Keep shook and shuddered as the first stone thrown by the trebuchets struck the thick solid walls sending the shockwaves reverberating through the great structure, shaking dust from the wooden ceilings onto the heads of the people inside.
Ranulf made his way to the Archbishops chambers desperate to check on Evelyn. He hadn’t seen much of her since they first met but he felt there was a connection and he needed to know if he was right before the killing started. The door was open and Ranulf walked into the chambers and saw Evelyn sitting and talking with Blanche. They both turned towards him. Evelyn stood and approached him, eyes wide with fear and Ranulf felt an overwhelming anger towards their attackers as he saw her flinch when the Keep quaked, ‘I had to see you,’ he explained, ‘before they attack.’
‘I’m glad you did,’ replied Evelyn as she moved closer.
Another rock struck the Keep and they both looked up at the ceiling as more dust fell on their heads. Before he could say anything else he heard his name called.
‘Sir Ranulf!’
He turned and saw one of the castle guards standing in the doorway with a worried look on his face, he glanced at Evelyn and hesitated before speaking, ‘De Montfort has arrived.’
‘Make sure there are men ready to drop the portcullis at all times.’ The guard nodded and shouted orders as he ran.
Ranulf turned back to Evelyn, ‘Keep Blanche safe, and keep yourself safe.’
Their eye contact said everything they needed to know. Evelyn nodded and placed a hand on his chest. He gripped her hand and smiled before making his way to the top of the Keep.
With each strike of the rocks the Keep continued to tremble, dust falling from the ceilings with each impact. Ranulf visited each floor and looked out of the loop holes to see the rebels on the hill standing in silence. They watched the rocks fly through the air at regular intervals as each trebuchet released its missile while the other was being loaded. By the time he reached the top of the Keep both armies were manoeuvring men and equipment into position.
‘DOWN!’
At the warning shout from one of the men, all those on the top of the keep and in the towers took cover behind the thick stone crenulations praying the missile heading their way would strike and bounce off as the previous ones had. The building again trembled as the shock wave ripped through the stones and the men all stood and resumed their surveillance of the enemy siege engines as if nothing had happened.
Ranulf walked over to the north side and stared across the river at Simon de Montfort’s army estimating the numbers to be between two and three thousand. He looked back at de Clare’s army and shook his head, five or six thousand men against less than three hundred, not good odds. He had been outnumbered before but not to this extent.
He had confidence in Jerold the archer and his men; they could fire twelve arrows a minute and they would be accurate. The crossbowmen however were slow; their weapon was cumbersome and required strength and time to reload a bolt. One or two bolts a minute was the norm from a trained bowman and although the crossbow was accurate and deadly there were not enough of them.
Most of the town guards were veterans of one campaign or another and although older than a lot of the men on the walls, they had experience, but the odds were not in their favour and once the city walls were breached it would only be a matter of time before the outer bailey was breached. The Keep had to hold!
‘DOWN!’
Ranulf turned and decided not to scurry and hide. He stood and watched the missile erupt from the trebuchet and fly towards the Keep. It struck the bottom of the round tower and glanced off to the east, ricocheting down into the outer bailey. He watched as it landed harmlessly, fortunately missing a stable boy who had been standing in the spot where the rock landed just a few seconds earlier.
Th
ere seemed to be nothing more he or anyone else could do now, it was a waiting game and the waiting would soon be over.
Chapter Sixteen
Simon de Montfort sat astride his horse flanked by his bodyguard. He watched the smoke rising high above the City of Rochester mingle with the low clouds that covered the sky blocking out the heat of the sun.
His army had approached the river using the road from London and viewed the city from the top of the hill that stretched down in a gentle gradient between a series of small hummocks and woods. These gave some protection from the cold north easterly winds so prevalent in the winter.
Now that army stood in ranks behind him at the base of the hill as it flattened out on the approach to the river. Three thousand foot soldiers and two hundred horse plus siege engines, wagons and the usual extras that followed an army to war; women, children, blacksmiths, armourers, and wagons loaded with grain, bread and salted meat.
De Montfort did not want his men to loot or steal for food; he needed to keep the population on his side. This was not a personal fight; this was for the good of England. He had given orders his men were to stand silent in rank and knew the sight of disciplined lines of armed and armoured men would instil fear into the defenders.
A slight breeze caused a ripple on the surface of the water as the gulls flew overhead screaming their displeasure at the thousands of men who were disturbing their tranquillity. He breathed in deeply, savouring the smell of the river as the smoke was pushed to the east. There were times, even in war he could appreciate the simple things; fresh unsullied air, the beauty of a tree, the graceful hovering of a kestrel as it surveyed the ground below searching for its prey; and the peace; a peace which these days always seemed to be broken by men of war, men like him.
London and many of the other cities he had visited in England and France were havens of filth and disease. The stench of human excrement clogged the nostrils and in some, there were rotting corpses which had bloated and burst emitting clouds of flies that had evolved from the maggots that infested them. The countryside was a thing of beauty and he sighed, shoulders slumped as the sound of men working towards killing other men broke into his thoughts.
Now he had arrived and seen the defences he changed his original plans, passing instructions for two of his mangonels to be constructed to destroy the barricades on the bridge. He was in no hurry to see any of his men killed storming across the obstacles put in place to prevent him reaching his goal. He had been assured by the mangonel commander he could clear the bridge without damaging it. Jaxon almost smiled when he heard that one and suppressed a cough lest his Lord thought he was laughing at the claim.